It was the third stop to check for data on the way in. The ship was under three light-seconds from the area of the battle and already starting to run into debris. It wasn’t so much that it had been a big battle as that the forces involved had sent debris spinning off at very fast velocities. It was spreading so fast that in another day or two it would have been hard to find the pieces.
“It’s code, non-frequency skipping, just a set of dots and dashes,” the commo tech continued, tracing the signal on his display. “I’d say that it’s an emergency beacon sending somebody’s version of SOS. It works out as ‘MRE’ in Morse.”
“Good job finding it,” the LPO said. “Conn, radio shack…”
“If that’s a survivor of the other race, we probably should get in there and recover him, sir,” Weaver pointed out. “Her. It.”
“Agreed,” Spectre replied coldly. “But not until we’re sure there are no active defense systems. I don’t want to get shot out of the sky on a rescue mission.”
“There’s some EM coming from the remnant of that ship, sir,” Bill said, looking at his displays. “And there’s a hot source in another piece of debris. I’d say it’s some sort of powered up machinery. But it could be a washing machine for all I know.”
The hull suddenly “bonged” and everyone in the conn jumped.
“Damn this debris,” the CO swore. “We also can’t just charge forward with all this chither flying around. But we’re going to have to close the heavier pieces.” He hit the intercom to the science section. “Master Sergeant Guzik, your team needs to start prepping for EVA.”
“Roger, sir,” the Special Forces master sergeant replied. “We’re in skins and ready to board the Wyverns.”
“Get with the Marine CO,” Spectre added. “I want a platoon of Marines out there with you. The first priority is an apparent distress signal we’re picking up. As soon as we figure out where it’s coming from, your team and the Marines will retrieve whatever it is. After that there’s some bits we need to pick up and take a look at. Last, you’ll be examining the biggest chunk, which is probably Dreen.”
“Roger, sir,” Guzik said. “We’ll get it done.”
“First Platoon,” Berg’s intercom chimed. “Fall out and fall in on Wyverns. EVA mission.”
“Oh, glory,” Himes bitched, pulling out a set of skins. “Zero-Gee.”
“Space Marines,” Berg pointed out, sliding out of his bunk and heading for the hatch. “And I told you to keep your damned skins on. You’ve got head-cleaning duty next cycle.”
“Speaking of heads,” Himes muttered.
“Should have kept your skins on,” Smith said, sliding past him and following the team leader. “Last one into their Wyvern is a head-cleaner.”
“There’s a radio signal coming from a piece of debris,” Master Sergeant Guzik said. “The debris sort of looks like it might be a life pod. Our mission is to recover the pod and extract whatever is inside, alive. Unless it’s Dreen, in which case dead works. We’ll try to determine what is inside prior to opening it. Either way, we’re going to be opening it carefully.”
“There’s lots of debris out there,” the first sergeant added. He, too, was suited up in his Wyvern. “Watch out for it. We’ve worked in microgravity but this is a whole new mission. Take it slow and easy. Keep your eyes open and one eye on your monitors. If you see any of the signs of Dreen presence, report it at once. The good news is that we can use the Number Three airlock, so we can get out faster. And in.”
“Good luck,” Captain Zanella said. He was not suited up. “Semper Fi.”
“Bravo First,” Lieutenant Monaghan barked. “Into the airlock.”
The airlock was the same tube that the Wyverns had been lowered down through, now converted back to its primary purpose. Berg and his team marched in and hit the closing button, then waited. The airlock was controlled remotely so that nobody could accidentally evacuate the ship.
“Move out slowly and deploy in a triangle,” Berg said. “Don’t engage your EVA thrusters. Just climb out and step onto the hull. When the next team comes out, we’ll spread outwards.”
“Yes, mother,” Himes replied.
“And watch the debris,” Berg added as there was a faint “bong” from the hull again. “It’s raining metal up there.”
The ship shut down engines and went into microgravity. Immediately afterwards, the hatch overhead opened up and outward like a clamshell.
Berg grabbed the ladder and pulled himself up, hand over hand and carefully. If he drifted free, he had the EVA pack to get back. But it would be a pain.
The ladder had automatically extended beyond the hull and he used it to lift himself up and over the lip of the former missile tube. He ignored the view; he had more important things to do, like getting his magnetic boots clamped down. When he was in place he swiveled his sensor pod to ensure the other two Marines were settled.
Smith had, somehow, managed to lose his grip on the ladder before getting clamped down and was now drifting slowly away from the ship.
“Smith, fire your thrusters down,” Berg said with a sigh.
“Working on it,” the lance corporal replied. There was a brief puff of gas from the thrusters on his shoulders and he drifted downward, connecting to the ship’s hull with a “click.”
“Bravo First deployed,” Berg reported then switched to the team frequency. “Everybody make sure they’re away from the doors.”
While he waited for the next team to deploy, he switched his view to a shot of their target. The pod was shaped vaguely like a seedpod but more angular and was tumbling slowly through space. Five meters long and about two wide, it had a pointed bow and stern and was apparently made of an aluminum alloy, according to the spectral readings. Aluminum was an odd choice, in Berg’s opinion, but not something the Dreen had ever been seen to use. Which was oddly comforting.
There were not, however, any portholes. They weren’t going to be able to look in before they opened it. And what or whoever was inside couldn’t look out. Odd that.
He waited as the teams deployed, moving his outward from the airlock as each got into place; then the SF team came up.
“Right,” Guzik said. “Sir, we’re going to have to secure the pod. Since it’s tumbling, we’re going to have to stop the tumble, first. Myself and the sergeant first class will attempt that, first. If that’s okay by you, sir.”
“Go for it, Master Sergeant,” the lieutenant said. “Want company?”
“I would recommend deploying your Marines around the pod, sir, yes,” Guzik replied.
“First Platoon, prepare to deploy. I want Alpha top side, Bravo forward and Charlie to the rear. That is with the ship as down. All clear? Sound off.”
“Alpha, clear,” Staff Sergeant Hinchcliffe replied.
“Bravo, aye aye,” Berg said.
“Charlie, aye aye,” Priester chimed in.
“Roger,” the LT said. “Deploy.”
“Bravo, let’s take this easy,” Berg said. “Break boots then follow me.”
He lifted one boot up to the toe, then moved it back to position alongside the heel of the second. Lifting up the second from the heel, he drifted very slowly away from the hull. He picked a spot forward of the pod and engaged his thrusters, moving outward from the hull at a lightning pace of barely a half meter a second. Looking at his monitors, he could see that the rest of the teams were deploying with equal rapidity. Moving in microgravity just plain sucked.
So did fighting in it. If he’d carried his Mojo, one shot would have sent him spinning off into the void. There simply wasn’t anything with serious punch that didn’t punch back; even most rocket launchers had some recoil. The system that the Marines used for microgravity combat was, therefore, a very low-power multiple rocket launcher. The rockets were notoriously inaccurate and the best you could do with them was fill up the target area with fire. And each of the micro-rockets had not only minimal velocity but a lousy little warhead. And they still had some recoil. So unless you were clamped down, you also had to correct your spin as you fired. Supposedly the next weapons system would have automatic compensation, but for now it was a pain. Presumably the Dreen had a better system. If they ended up fighting Dreen in microgravity, they were grapped.