Enter, Pursued By a Care (Empire's Legacy)

Peleteth Spaceport, in the Nerat system, was one of the most trafficked ports in the sector and the main hub for ships travelling from the outliers towards the central Commissioner planets, and vice versa. Level Five, reserved primarily for government and larger ships, was one of the busiest docking rings on the spaceport, but no matter where you disembarked, it was easy to disappear on Peleteth. It was one of the reasons it was such a popular port. Step off a transport, and the crowds swallowed you in an instant. No one wanted to know who you were or where you were going; no one asked too many questions. For the most part, everyone was too busy with their own lives to worry about anyone else’s. As long as people had the right papers, kept their heads down, and stayed out of the Commission’s way, no one tended to notice one more inconspicuous, unremarkable passenger moving across the galaxy.

Of course, it helped to have multiple identities.

The smell of hot oil and old engine grease permeated the main promenade on Level Five, seeping through the ventilation grates and winding invisible, insidious tendrils around synthetic clothing fibers that lingered for weeks after departure. Commissioner patrols walked the promenade in pairs, poking the ends of their rifles into stacks of cargo, their faces unreadable behind tinted visors as they watched passengers debark from the incoming ships. Smoke from food stalls and malfunctioning equipment drifted across the ring, settling in a faint haze near the top of the promenade. The buzz of voices provided a steady backdrop of sound, out of which an occasional word or phrase would sometimes emerge; the deck plates rumbled periodically as ships started up and disengaged from their dock, departing for destinations unknown. A steady stream of new arrivals poured through the promenade and made their way to transfer pods or to one of any number of food vendors lining the walls, always mindful of the constant eye of the patrols.

A young woman, recently disembarked an Idyllan transport, stood for a moment and surveyed the promenade before approaching a stall operated by a man whose hand and facial tattoos identified him as hailing from one of the Eratal moons. He served her a plate, but his eyes flickered repeatedly from her face to the pair of guards across the way. Once paid, he shook his head at the next customer and pulled a grate down over the front of his shop before disappearing out the back.

The young woman carried her tray to a mostly empty table in the middle of the promenade, plunking it down and dropping her bag on the deck beside her. Flicking a glance at her surroundings, she slid onto the bench and tore off a piece of spiced flatbread, noting that two guards had been dispatched in the direction of the vendor from whom she’d just received her meal. Though interesting, it was irrelevant; having mentally logged it, she concentrated on her meal, keeping a tendril of awareness on the children roughhousing nearby. Two of them darted behind her, laughing; one tripped over the edge of her bench and fell across her bag. Mumbling apologies, he popped to his feet, but found himself pinned in place as the woman caught his ear between her fingers.

“Looking for this?” she asked quietly, holding up a wallet in her other hand.

The kid’s eyes widened, but to his credit, he said, “Glad I found your credits, miss.”

She ruffled his hair. “Next time you swipe something, kiddo, make sure your mark isn’t a better pickpocket than you.”

He nodded and bolted, leaving her to glance through the contents of her wallet before returning to her meal.

“Would you have called for the Commies?”

Her back stiffening, the woman set down her fork and looked up. A tall woman stood on the other side of the table, hands clasped behind her back.

“Make a habit of eavesdropping, do you?”

“Manners dictate that one should not, if it can be avoided,” the other woman replied. “But I have good hearing. I’m looking for Amy Jones.”

Art (c) Alison Mutton (aleneart.com)

Amy’s head came up and she took a better look at the other woman. “I should have known. You’re Kitaran. The beadwork.”

The other woman swung a chair around and straddled it. “You are Amy Jones, then?”

“Actually,” Amy said, carefully tearing off another piece of flatbread and dipping it in the sauce, “it’s Doctor Jones. But you knew that.”

“Indeed.”

Amy popped the bread into her mouth. “Ramina de Sara, isn’t it?” she asked around the mouthful. “Glad you found me so easy. I was planning to just turn up at the berth. Always nicer to have an escort.” The deck plates reverberated beneath their boots, and they both glanced to the side in time to see a freighter sail past the observation windows. “Or do you prefer Commander?”

“As you wish.”

Amy studied her for a moment, her fingers tapping against the table. “I take it you’re waiting on me.” Ramina regarded her silently. “That’s a yes, then.” She sighed. “I’m hungry. Let me finish my meal. I’m paying you, remember?”

De Sara stood. “The crew of the Sophia awaits your pleasure, Doctor Jones. Level Three, Docking Port C2.”

As she turned to leave, Amy called, “Commander!”

De Sara turned, the beads in her hair clicking.

“How did you know who I was?”

De Sara smiled slightly and didn’t answer. Amy watched her walk away, then stabbed her fork at her curried replimeat. Three stabs later, she gave up on the meat, sopped up the last of the sauce, and picked up her bag, a frown on her face. Slinging the strap over her shoulder, she headed off the promenade, and within moments was lost in the swirl of the crowd.

Art (c) Alison Mutton (aleneart.com)

Docking Port C2 housed a small, battered ship. Her oversized engines, tucked tight against her belly, looked disproportionately powerful and out of place attached to a ship of her size. The letters So and a were visible on the hull; the rest of the letters and the registration were obscured by a combination of years of accumulated space junk and what looked suspiciously like weapons residue. Two grappling arms, currently resting in their retracted position, dominated the front of the ship like the protruding elbows of a praying mantis.

Bruch’s Violin Concerto No. 1 in G Minor echoed through the ship, the static of the less-than-pristine comm system disrupting the smooth distribution of the sound. Deep in the bowels of the ship, cradled between the twin engines, a big man lay on his back beneath a stripped piece of machinery and hummed to himself, earplugs rendering him happily oblivious to the music around him. A deck above him, a man with short, spiky hair slung cargo across the hold with more force than necessary, ignoring Bruch and singing both parts of a Lorathian love duet at the top of his lungs. And in the middle of the ship, Ramina de Sara stood with her hands clasped behind her back and watched the man seated in the center of the flight deck, his legs draped over the arm of his chair and his chin propped in his hand.

“It isn’t that I dislike Bruch,” de Sara said at last. “He is no more or less objectionable than any other old Earth composer. My objection is to your unfortunate tendency to playing Bruch ad nauseum when you’re worried.”

“I like it,” offered the third occupant of the flight deck, a lavender-haired young woman with her feet on the pilot’s console. “You should play it more often when we’re flying, Captain.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” The captain rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his head sideways to look up at de Sara. “She’s not coming, Ramina.”

“Patience. She gave no indication of not coming. If we just wait—”

He sat up and swung his legs around until his boots hit the deck. “We don’t have the credit to sit in dock any longer. Dammit, Ramina, you should’ve just brought her aboard.”

De Sara raised her eyebrows. “I doubt kidnapping a respected historian would slide beneath the Commission’s radar, Gus.”

“Wishful thinking,” he said, and then suddenly leaned forward. “Is that her?” He stabbed his finger at the crackling vidscreen in front of the pilot’s seat, which showed a figure moving down the corridor leading to the airlock.

De Sara narrowed her eyes at the fuzzy image, and then said, “Yes, I believe it is.”

“Thank god,” the captain said, and then frowned as Amy stopped in front of the airlock. “What the hell took her so long? Never mind, get down there and collect her. Damn woman probably has no idea how space works.” As de Sara nodded and departed, he slouched back in his chair and flicked a switch. “Taz, Benji, flight deck, now. Our benefactor has arrived.”

 

Amy stood outside the airlock and repositioned the strap over her shoulder, peering through the viewport. She could see the ship—not a particularly reassuring sight—but irritatingly she’d forgotten to ask de Sara for the ship’s boarding codes. She could open the lock herself…but that would be illegal. And she did try to be legal. At least when she was in full view of security cameras.

The hiss of the airlock cycling open cut short nascent thoughts of pissing off. Ramina de Sara stood on the other side of the door, her face unreadable.

“Welcome to the Sophia Zero-Five-Niner,” de Sara said.

“Permission to come aboard?”

“Come.”

Amy followed de Sara along a narrow corridor and down a ladder, nearly whacking de Sara in the head with her bag in the process. She knew from the outside that the ship was roughly rectangular in shape and was not large, by the Commission’s standards or anyone else’s, but she hadn’t anticipated that the corridors on such a small ship would twist and turn and loop about as much as they did. The ship’s blueprints had indicated a much more straightforward layout. Five minutes from the airlock, she was already lost.

“This place is like a rabbit warren,” Amy muttered as they climbed up what felt like the fifth or sixth ladder in a row. As her head emerged into open space, level with several pairs of boots, her mouth shut abruptly in surprise, and she flushed.

“Oh, good, someone shares my opinion,” said a man perched on a console across the room. He leant back on his hands and grinned at her as she hoisted herself up onto the flight deck, his eyes sparkling with laughter. Amy returned the smile and glanced around at the others.

“Doctor Jones, welcome aboard the Sophia.” The speaker was lounging against the chair in the middle of the flight deck, unabashedly studying her from head to toe. “Have to tell you, we’ve all been mighty curious as to what you look like. Awful hard these days to have a photoless ident.” Amy raised her eyebrows. “I’m Octavius Moore. You can call me Gus. I’m the Sophia’s captain, which on any given day means trying to keep this rickety old barge—lovely as she is—from falling to bits mid-flight.”

Amy shifted her bag to her other shoulder. “Interesting strategy for reassuring your employer,” she said. “But then, I did my research. I doubt there’s much you can say that’ll surprise me.”

“You’ll grow to love her as much of the rest of us,” Gus said. “Speaking of which—” He motioned to the rest of the crew. “As you already knew, not a lot of us. Your research was thorough?”

“Quite,” Amy said, “but there’s a difference between reading bios and a man introducing his crew. Please.”

“You’ve already met Ramina, my first officer and resident medic,” Gus said. “The lady with the lavender hair is Kate Killigrew, our pilot.” Kate waved shyly at Amy. “The short man on her control panel is Benji Harris, salvage and cargo.”

“You know, just because you and Taz are freakishly tall—” Benji grumbled.

Ignoring him, Gus nodded at the third man in the room and continued, “And that is Theodore Dekker, our engineer, resident god with machines.”

“And the one who actually keeps this rickety barge from falling to pieces,” Kate put in, laughing.

Dekker was taller than Gus, who wasn’t particularly short himself, and his captain’s words seemed to embarrass him; a faint blush spread across his cheeks, and he gave Gus an annoyed look. “Taz,” he said. Despite his powerful appearance, his voice was soft when he spoke. “Please. No one calls me Theodore except my mother.”

Amy met his eyes briefly and looked away, turning to Kate with a smile. She’d noticed Taz almost immediately, almost the same moment he’d noticed her, and the twist in her stomach told her she’d been much less prepared to see him again than she’d thought. His surprise had almost instantly been quelled by the plea in her eyes, asking him to pretend he had no idea who she was. She’d at least had the advantage of knowing he was on the ship she was boarding. He’d had no warning. He’d never met her before as Amy Jones.

“My understanding is that you’ve run significant salvage operations in the past despite a small crew,” Amy said.

Gus eyed her for a moment, and then said, “Ramina, contact Peleteth and request permission to depart. Kate—”

Amy handed Kate a data rod. “Coordinates.”

“Kate,” Gus continued, as though Amy hadn’t spoken, “I want us on our way to the Elderan asteroid belt as soon as we’re clear to leave.” He gestured at the hatch in the deck. “As for you, Doctor Jones: you’re with me.”

Tamping down her annoyance, Amy followed him back down the ladder and through the maze of winding corridors. “You know, I could swear this ship was a lot more straightforward when it was built.”

“It’s been like this since I bought her, Doctor Jones,” Gus said over his shoulder as he turned into a side room.

“You can call me Amy,” she said.

“Doctor Jones—”

“Really,” she said, cutting him off. “Call me Amy. You and your crew clearly operate on a first name basis, and I’d rather not look like an ass by deviating from that.”

Gus raised his eyebrows. “Ramina said you made a point of mentioning your title.”

Amy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I worked hard for many years earning that title, Captain,” she said, meeting his eyes. “Most of the time when people look at me, they think they see a girl who doesn’t know anything useful, or practical, and who couldn’t pilot a ship or tell a—an injector from a circuit if her life depended on it.” She flexed her fingers and forced her hands to relax. Objectively, she was pleased with her performance, though this particular role was one she’d played variations on for nearly two decades and not exactly a strain on her skills. “It doesn’t mean I’m a dick about it.” She sighed. “Look, I’m not much use on a ship like this. There’s a reason I hired you instead of pulling together my own crew. Regardless, I’m going to feel like a real ass if you constantly slam my title in my face.” She bit her lip.

Gus looked rueful. “I’m sorry. Shall we try again?” He held out his hand. “Octavius Moore. Captain of the Sophia.”

Amy dropped her bag to the deck and indulged in a luxurious stretch. “Amy Jones,” she said, taking Gus’s hand. “Historian. Empire-era ships of the line.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Gus said, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.

“And you,” she said, and then added, “But don’t ever leave your ship in my hands. Really. I might accidentally destroy it.”

Gus sat down and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle. “So. Now that we’re here, you want to share a few more details on the job?”

Amy dropped to the deck and pulled one knee to her chest. “You took the job anyway. You were desperate?”

“Something like that.”

“What does your crew know?”

“About as much as me. You weren’t exactly forthcoming.”

“I like to meet people before I trust them with important information,” Amy admitted.

Gus regarded her steadily. “And have you determined my crew is trustworthy?”

“Enough.” Taking a deep breath, Amy said, “Okay. So. My expertise is in pre-Commission, Empire-era ships of the line. I’m one of about three experts across the Commissioned planets. I won’t bore you with the details of my qualifications. The important point here is that it’s been over a decade since the last Empire-era ship was discovered. I’ve had feelers out for years, chased innumerable leads to find nothing.”

“You should write film blurbs,” Gus said. “So much drama.”

“It’s my backup career,” Amy said mildly. “I’m gratified to know you think I suit the profession.” This time she didn’t bother to keep her eyes from rolling. “The initial survey of the ship wasn’t ideal. The ship’s behind an asteroid, there was a storm nearby, and irritatingly I couldn’t supply my scout with equipment that might have cut through the interference. The shots she brought back were fuzzy.”

“Why didn’t you go yourself?”

“I was…otherwise occupied.” She shrugged. “I can’t follow up every lead personally, anyway. I’d die of exhaustion.” Amy sprawled on her back. Staring up at the ceiling, she continued, “As I said, the quality of the photos wasn’t great, and at first I thought she might be Venus-class. But then I saw the flares on her nacelles. They’re way too pronounced.” Her eyes lit up with excitement. “She’s an Apollo.”

Gus ran his thumb across his lower lip. “I’m not an expert, but hasn’t there only ever been one of those ever recovered?”

“I can’t be positive until I see her up close,” Amy said, “but the flare of the nacelles along with the more gradual curve of the body and the gentler slope of the wings all strongly suggest Apollo.” She hesitated. “It’s possible she’s a late-model, retrofitted Mercury. The flares and body would be consistent with that model, and some of the retrofit ships did have the wings attached. The shots didn’t give me enough of a scale to positively determine one way or another.” She laughed and added, “It’ll be blindingly obvious once we’re there, as the Mercury-class ships were considerably smaller than the Apollos. Even if it is a Mercury, that’s hardly an insignificant find. The retrofit Mercury are a lot less common than their predecessors, and odds are we’d find all sorts of late-era Empire equipment and data inside. What?”

Shaking his head, Gus said, “I’ve never seen anyone get that fired up about an old ship. I mean, I love the Sophia. Half the time I don’t know how Taz holds her together, but I love her all the same. But she’s my ship. I’m attached. But any other ship?”

“I don’t care about the other jobs,” Amy said, “the ones that turn out to be nothing more than a post-Empire-era ship with a jacked Empire transponder sending out a signal to fool the sensors. But I love the Empires. It’s like walking through history. Those ships are hundreds of years old. They’re gorgeous. You don’t see anything like them today. They’re works of art. It’s no wonder they named them after gods.”

Gus laughed. “You’d have a hard time finding enough material to make a ship like that now,” he said. “I doubt even the Commission could do it.”

“Not that they’d want to,” Amy said. “They’re a bit more function over beauty.”

“Even if she isn’t intact, that’s a hell of a lot of ship for a five-man salvage crew,” Gus said with a frown. “Six with you, obviously. Kate always stays aboard in case we need to leave in a hurry. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to decline the job. I owe my crew two years’ back pay, and what you’re offering covers that and then some.” He hesitated and then said, “I don’t trust many people, and I’d rather not bring any more people on board my ship than absolutely necessary. But to be honest I’m not sure my crew can handle this big a job without help.”

Amy sat up. “We have no idea what we’re going to find once we get past the airlock. She might be derelict. She might have already been gutted and be nothing more than a shell. Until we have a better idea, I’m as reluctant as you to bring more people into it.” She nibbled on her lower lip. “To be honest, even if she’s intact I’d still rather run a six-person crew, as long as you’re not in a hurry to get anywhere else. Although in the interest of transparency I should admit that every other crew I’ve run on an Empire salvage job has ben at least a twenty-man operation, and those were wreckage jobs with a large percentage of the original ship missing. The last intact ship involved over fifty people. But those were Commission jobs, and when it comes to the Commission, time is efficiency, and efficiency is everything.” She popped to her feet and added, “This time it’s just me, so I’m happy for it to take as long as it takes if it means I can keep the crew small.”

Gus was silent, his face unreadable. Finally, he said, “I assume there’s a reason this job isn’t being run through the Commission. I don’t want to know what it is.”

“Good,” Amy said, leaning down and picking up her bag. “I wasn’t planning on telling you.” She flashed him a smile and asked, “Got a place for me to sleep, or do I just kip anywhere I find a spot?”

“As soothing as you might find sleeping next to the engines, bunking in with Kate will probably make for better sleep,” Gus said, standing up. “Or there’s a closet we can stick you in, if you prefer.”

“de Sara doesn’t share?”

Gus gave her a look. “She’s Kitaran.”

“Whoops. The privacy thing. Forgot.” Amy shrugged. “I’m happy to share with Kate as long as she doesn’t mind. I’m not real fond of closets.”

Gus held open the door. “After you.”

 

Amy had travelled extensively across Commissionate space since she was old enough for prolonged time offdirt, but now, standing on the viewing deck, she was barely able to contain her excitement. Her love of Empire ships was just about the one thing she knew to be true about herself, despite years of being other people. She loved the anticipation of discovery. The fact that her current iteration of herself got to express her love openly was a bonus.

Gus glanced sideways at her and hid a smile. “You’re bouncing.”

Amy realized she was on her toes and dropped back to the deck. “I love the anticipation. You have no idea.”

“I’m getting it in waves, actually. You’re a pretty good transmitter.”

“Oh, shut up.” She stared at the covered window in front of her. “How much longer?”

Benji, who had just walked into the room, stopped short. “Seriously?” he said. “I thought I was the kid in the family. That’s my line.” He held up a laser spanner and tossed it to Gus. “Taz says the cover for the window in here hasn’t been working for a month. Sends his regards but can’t spare the time to fix it if you want the connector chute to be operational, so he recommends you try that.”

Gus looked at the spanner in his hand and raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Benji shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I’m the salvage and cargo guy. Also, he says if you break it you owe him two since you still haven’t replaced the last one.”

“Please don’t tell me that your ship breaking down is going to make me miss my first glimpse of my ship,” Amy said. “I might cry.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Jones,” Gus said. “My ship never breaks down.” Benji made a strangled noise. “Well, never for long. Besides, a captain always knows something about fixing ships.”

“Mhmm,” Amy replied, watching Gus flip open a wall panel and twitch aside several wires. “Any chance that one of the ships you know something about fixing happens to be yours?”

Gus pointed the spanner at her. “I started off as an engineer, Jones. I’m not incompetent.”

Amy held up her hands in surrender. “Apologies, mon capitan. I was led astray by your unhealthy dependence upon Taz.”

“Oh, come on.” Gus turned to look at her, an expression of disbelief on his face. “I do not have an unhealthy dependence on Taz.”

The wall panel pinged and the vidscreen crackled to life before Amy could respond.

“Hey guys,” Kate said, “the asteroid belt just came into sight, so…we should be stumbling into that ship here in about, oh, I dunno, five minutes? Just so’s you know…”

“Thanks, Kate,” Gus said and flicked the vidscreen off.

“Wasn’t her hair lavender this morning?”

“I stopped noticing Kate’s hair color years ago. Look, if you want to be able to look out that window and actually see something other than the protective screen, you might let me do my job.”

Amy perched on a defunct console and swung her legs back and forth. “Aye aye, Captain.”

Gus opened his mouth, thought better of it, and turned back to the open panel, ignoring Amy’s humming. Several minutes and a number of sparks later, the screen covering the window began to grind its way upward.

Banging the panel closed, Gus folded his arms and turned expectantly towards Amy, but she’d crossed to the window and was standing with her nose pressed against the glass, gazing at the blurred asteroids as they slipped past.

“She’s cute when she’s that absorbed,” Benji remarked quietly to Gus. “Like a little kid.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Gus muttered. “Remind me to tell Taz the coating on the wires up here is shot and needs to be replaced.”

“Sure, right after the engines get a new coolant tank and the hull gets replated so we aren’t vaporized the first time we hit something bigger than a pebble,” Benji said cheerfully. “No problem. Anything you say, boss.”

“Smartass,” Gus said, smacking him across the back of the head. “Don’t you have something you can go sort?”

Benji snorted. “Yeah, sure. I’ve been through our last haul so many times I can list it off by heart. Wanna hear?”

Amy’s gasp distracted them both. Gus hadn’t thought she’d actually do it, but her nose was touching the window, her hands pressed flat against the glass, as the ship slowed to curve around one of the asteroids. Dwarfed by the size of the rock, the Sophia crept along its edge until the first gleam of polished alloy came into view, reflecting the Sophia’s search beams. The little salvage ship rounded an outcropping, and Amy let out a little squeak.

“God, it’s gorgeous,” she said, staring out the window at the silvery ship before them. “Definitely an Apollo. How soon can we get aboard?”

“Assuming Taz managed to get the connector chute working again,” Gus said, “it’ll only take as long as Benji needs to get together his cutting equipment so we can get in. Barring checking that there’s not, you know, something on the other side of the airlock waiting to kill us.”

Amy turned. “Absolutely not. You are not going to cut into my ship.”

“If you’ve got a better idea I’m open to suggestions,” Benji said, “but most ships have their own complex locking systems and take days to work out, and I’ll bet you something that old and flash has a locking mechanism even more intricate than the Commies. Fastest way will be to cut through.”

Amy huffed impatiently. “I’m not an amateur, boys. I do know how to spring an Apollo’s lock.”

Benji glanced at Gus, who shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said. “Just check with de Sara and Kate that it’s safe to go over before you work your magic. I’ll go pack up.” He stalked to the ladder and clambered up out of view.

Amy frowned at Gus. “He’s pissed at me. What did I say?”

Gus sighed. “Took over his job. He’s not used to someone else knowing more about salvage than he does. Don’t worry about it. Make sure you know what you’re doing and go meet up with Taz. I’ll check in with Ramina and Kate.” He grinned. “We’re about to board us an Apollo.”

 

Amy stood behind the Sophia’s access port and peered through the window at the chute making its way towards the other ship. “So that’s how we’re boarding my Apollo?”

Gus clicked his oxygen tube into place and glanced up. “Ever been in a connecter chute before?”

“They’re a bit retro,” she replied. “And I’m pretty sure they were recalled about fifty years ago.”

“That would be a no, then.”

“I’ve got her up and running just fine,” Taz said, ducking through the door. “Nothing to worry about.” He pressed the wall comm and snapped his braces up over his shoulders. “Benji, how’s she looking?”

“We’re almost to the Apollo. Give me a minute or two and we’ll be locked tight. You ready to go?”

“Give us a minute or two and we’ll be waiting on you,” Gus said. “You want us to wait for you to kit up or you gonna join us on the other side?”

“Go ahead and slide once she’s locked,” Benji said. “I need to pick up a few things and then I’ll head over.”

“Got it.” Gus nodded to Taz, who flicked the comm off and pulled a suit out of the lockers.

Amy double-checked her air tank and settled her helmet over her head. “Do you guys have anything that’s less than a decade old?” she asked, flipping the visor up.

“Unlike the Commies, we don’t exactly have extra credits floating around,” Gus said. He reached behind her and secured the helmet. “These do the job and are easy to repair.” He nudged Taz in the ribs. “What would you do with extra credits?”

Taz whistled. “Thanksgiving burger and fries like my mom used to make.”

The comm crackled. “Sign me up for a new mattress,” Kate’s voice said. “My back is killing me.”

“Least you have an actual mattress,” Benji said cheerfully. “Someone’s the captain’s favorite.”

The sound of scuffling came over the comm. “Sorry about that, guys,” Kate said momentarily. “Chute’s locked and the Sophia’s in position, Captain. Any time you’re ready, slide away.”

Grinning, Gus locked his helmet into place and switched on the internal comm. “Jones, you reading me?”

Amy winced as his voice squealed through a burst of static and then cleared out. “Yeah, you sound peachy.”

“Taz?”

Taz tipped an imaginary hat. “Got you both loud and clear.”

“Benji, Kate, we’re headed over,” Gus said. “Ramina, you up there?”

“I’m monitoring each of you,” de Sara said. “Kate and I will track the data you send back. It would be appreciated if you could avoid any emergencies this time.”

Laughing, Gus said, “Not sure last time really qualifies as an emergency, but we’ll do our best.”

Amy looked from one man to the other as the access port door opened, hissing as the pressure equalized and revealing the entrance to the chute. “What happened last time?”

Gus stepped past her and peered down the shaft. “There was a minor accident with a pole.”

“There may have been some blood involved,” Taz admitted, coming up behind them. He handed Amy a plastic case and a canister. “Your supplies, An—Amy.” He winced at the slip-up, but Gus wasn’t paying attention. “Hold on tight and keep your elbows tucked in.”

“Sorry?”

Taz ducked his head and pointed down the tube. “The Sophia is currently attached to your Apollo by the connector chute. Kate’s positioned us above relative to the other ship and Benji’s pressurized the chute, so when you sit on the edge and slide forward, you’ll slide from this end all the way to the bottom, right down at the Apollo’s access port. It’s quick and efficient and pretty safe.” Amy gave him a look, which he ignored. “The chute has built-in inertia dampers that will help to slow your motion so you don’t pick up too much speed on the way down. Like brakes on a bike.”

“What’s a bike?”

“Never mind.” Taz ushered her to the edge of the chute. “Just sit down and when you start sliding, keep your arms and legs tucked in. And keep your equipment on your chest. It’ll hurt if you let it go and it comes back to hit you in the face. Got it?”

Amy could think of half a dozen things she’d like to say, but she bit back the words and perched on the edge of the chute. She leaned forward slightly and stared at the downward slope before looking up at Gus. “You sure this thing’s safe?”

“Yep,” Gus said. He pushed her forward without warning. “Think good thoughts!”

“Was that really necessary?” Taz asked as they watched her sail away. “She’s going to be pissed.”

“Eh,” Gus said, turning to pick up another box of supplies. “One of us probably should have gone first, to be fair. She’ll be fine.”

Amy wrapped her arms around her supply cases and held on as she shot down the tube. There were dim lights at intervals along the way; she couldn’t decide if they made the slide more or less unnerving. Sliding in total darkness might have been terrifying, but the light highlighted the chute’s wear and tear. If she was going to risk death in space due to ancient and faulty equipment she hadn’t had a chance to inspect herself, she thought she’d prefer not to know about it.

Of all the things she hadn’t trained on. Who the hell even used connector chutes anymore?

In a surprisingly short amount of time, her rapid slide began to slow, and she skidded out into a wider area and up against a smooth metal surface. She sat with her back against it for a moment before dropping the case and canister and getting to her feet to stare at the hull of her Apollo.

“How was the ride?” Gus’s voice asked in her ear.

She turned to find Gus getting to his feet behind her. “Fine. Is Taz—” She stopped as Taz shot out of the chute. “Never mind.”

“Gravity’s still functioning,” Taz said as he stood up and took an experimental step. “You can feel it from the other side of the hull.” He tapped the ship’s shiny surface and frowned. “You said you know how to open this thing?”

Amy regarded the access port with her hands on her hips. “It should respond to a passcode.”

“What, like some kind of algorithm? Some kind of sequential thing?”

She laughed. “Well, sure, but in this case you might think a little less high-tech. Breaking and entering and theft of ships this size weren’t a big problem during the Empire era.” Awkwardly, she unzipped a pocket of her suit and pulled out a notebook. Ignoring the two men, she thumbed through the pages until she found her quickly scrawled notes on Apollos. “Apollos are christened with a name and serial number,” she read. “The serial number will open the outer access ports, while the name will open the inner ones.” She looked up. “And wouldn’t you know it, I have both written down. Clever me.”

Gus stepped back with an elaborate flourish. “Would you care to do the honors, Doctor Jones?”

Amy took a deep breath and stepped up to the sleek box to the left of the door. Flipping open the cover, she keyed in SV-997 and waited, holding her breath. There was a moment of stillness, and then the chute rumbled beneath their feet as the access port detached inwards and rolled away from the opening. The lights in the space just beyond the hatch flickered and lit up, illuminating a cylindrical area roughly ten feet by fifteen. Another access hatch blocked the far end.

Slinging the strap to the canister over her shoulder and picking up the plastic case, Amy squared her shoulders and stepped through into the passageway. As Gus and Taz moved to follow, the chute shook again and Benji slid out at an angle. Gus paused with his foot on the lip of the access port and glanced down as the shorter man got to his feet.

“Come along then, Harris,” he said. “Before Jones blows a blood vessel.”

“If the last one in will hit the blue switch, the hatch should seal behind you,” Amy said as she moved to the end of the passageway and turned her attention to the second access port, setting down the supply case beside the bulkhead. Behind her, Benji punched the blinking blue button; it flashed once and then glowed steadily as the door rolled back across the opening. The floor vibrated and for a moment there was silence, followed by a gentle hiss that grew steadily louder, until finally Benji said,

“Does anyone else hear that?”

Taz lifted his head and squinted overhead between the lights. “She’s repressurizing.”

“Amy, do these ships usually have the kind of resources to keep powered up for hundreds of years?” Gus asked.

Amy glanced back at him, her gaze troubled. “Not that I’m aware,” she replied. “To the best of my knowledge, she should have powered down once her crew abandoned ship and stayed that way until someone issued a command from the bridge deck to power back up. Repressurizing violates the power-down command. There’s no need for atmosphere with no crew on board.” She hesitated, and then added, “Although it’ll make our lives easier if we don’t have to bother with the suits while we’re on board.”

“I’d rather keep them until we can ascertain what the atmospheric condition is throughout the ship.” Gus watched as Amy turned her attention to the control panel beside the inner hatch. “Any luck?”

“In a moment,” she said. She returned her notepad to its pocket and tapped ERV Waratah into the keypad.

“What’s the ERV stand for?” Gus asked over her shoulder.

“Empire Research Vessel.” Amy stood back as the hatch rolled aside. “We’ve got air,” she said, and picked up the supply case again. “Shall we go see what the Empire has left us?”

Next

Find the rest of Empire’s Legacy here.