The entire 5500 sector was considered low security space, so keeping military vessels in the area was deemed unnecessary. The transport way station, after missing two consecutive deliveries, had filed an automatic report.
Once the regional managers of the sector, who worked out of the Home Office on Grotto Prime, were made aware of the report they determined that the cost of a response effort would outweigh the projected profits of the facility.
At the time, Grotto Corp. was engaged in a bitter trade war with the Hadrian Conglomerate in several of the surrounding sectors. To re-task even one response ship to pass through the war zone and into sector 5500 would have not only resulted in the loss of the ship to one or more of the many Hadrian frigates that picketed the area, but also ran the risk of Hadrian management discovering that there were precious resources hidden on a small planet deep within the largely ignored and unmapped sector.
The report was buried and the fate of the mining compound on M5597 was unknown.
It had been ten standard years since then and the war with Hadrian had eventually ground to a halt as more lucrative ventures had presented themselves to both companies in other parts of the universe.
Two weeks ago the branch ship that had sourced the mining compound, which should have been the ship to deliver the production yields all those years ago, had been sighted several systems away and flagged as a rogue ship, no doubt being crewed by pirates or independents.
The companies that dominated the universe, though in constant conflict with one another, did ostensibly share information about independents and pirates, as both groups represented a challenge to corporate rule.
Once flagged as a rogue vessel the ship would be ‘red listed’ alongside thousands of others. They simply ceased to exist as far as being under the protection or responsibility of any company. While this certainly represented a kind of freedom, Red Listed ships, and static communities for that matter, were completely on their own. They had no allegiance to anyone, which meant they also had no rights. Most Red Listed ships and communities quickly turned to piracy in order to survive, were wiped out by a corporate interest, or were simply swallowed by the void of space and never heard from again.
A new regional manager on Grotto Prime, so far removed from the field that even the shift manager did not have their name in her briefing, had decided to classify M5597 as a REAPER objective.
Samuel had listened attentively, not once flinching at the shameless bureaucracy and adherence to the bottom line that ruled Grotto society. He had long ago accepted that such things were unchanging. It made perfect sense to him that the managers, both old and new, made their decisions based on the profit and loss projections of their actions. Such was the Grotto way, and he had been raised in that world, as had the other hundred and forty marines.
It was the logical choice now that the trade war was over and there was a new regional manager looking to boost his or her quarterly revenues and political status within the organization.
Sending a REAPER fleet was relatively inexpensive, and since the cost of the entire facility had already been tagged as a loss, any salvage or resource yield would be pure profit. The shift manager went on to say that, as per standard operational procedures, the marines were to do their best to avoid further damaging the compound should they be met with armed resistance.
It was that thought of armed resistance that hurled Samuel’s mind back into the present moment and he once more checked his safety and ammunition count.
Squad Taggart had made planetfall roughly twenty minutes prior and though their drop-pods were outdated and uncomfortable, they were sturdy. As they’d been coming down, Samuel had found himself looking at the blast scarring on the interior of the pod, and realized that at some point in this pod’s history an incendiary device had gone off inside it. He hoped that the marines within had already exited the craft since salvage marines weren’t usually dropped into direct combat, though it was anybody’s guess what had happened.
Record keeping was more concerned with resources expended and resources procured and there was little in the way of storytelling amongst the marines. They were a grim lot, being the lowest paid and most poorly equipped of the Grotto military even though they were always being sent into the unknown.
As Samuel swept his rifle through the gloom of the corridor he found himself wondering if it might have been better to be a legionnaire. At least then he would have bio-implants to make him faster and stronger, an armored dropsuit, and access to the most impressive and deadly of armaments. However, he told himself, instead of prowling the dark corridors of mysteriously abandoned mining facilities in the middle of necrospace he would be in the middle of a firefight with enemy soldiers who were just as powerful as he was. Samuel was a pragmatic young man, and had been raised Grotto from birth, so as the seconds ticked by he considered that his pay-per-minute as a marine was the better choice for a family man.
A sharp scream that could not have been human filled the corridors, and Samuel’s blood felt like it had turned to ice. Suddenly the unknown of an alien threat seemed much more intimidating than fighting other humans.
Samuel had always heard stories and rumors of inhuman creatures that stalked the forgotten corners of space, and there were always tales of ancient aliens who ruled the frontiers of necrospace. Like most people, he had ignored them, though in that moment, there was no doubt in his mind that monsters were real and that one was inside the dark compound with them.
“Tighten up people, this is what you’ve been training for,” muttered Mag as she held a fist up for the squad to stop, “This is a big place, sounds like that could carry serious distance, whatever it is could be on the other side of the compound for all we know. Aaron what’s our position?”
“The rig says we’re only about two hundred meters from the central quarters, Boss,” said Aaron as he checked the data-deck affixed to his forearm which contained all of their mission specifics, including maps of the facility and last known inventory lists. “Could be that whatever it is came in through the tunnels on the far side of the compound.”
“Squad Ulanti entered on that side. With all the atmospheric interference we aren’t going to hear anything from them until we’re face to face,” grumbled Mag as she lifted her rifle and continued forward, “Keep it together, people, let’s breach the compound and get out of these freaking tunnels.”
The squad began to move forward again and Samuel, who was bringing up the rear, could not help but turn to peer down the corridor behind them. He was astounded that the three other marines, raw recruits just like him, seemed so unshaken by the scream. Mag, as a Reaper veteran of at least ten years, he could understand, but the certain knowledge that something was in here with them, something not human, had rattled him to the core.
Suddenly, the combat rifle in his hands provided less assurance than it had moments before and checking the ammunition read out did little to steady his mind. He stood there, looking into the darkness and could almost swear that he could see shapes moving in the black. The illumination from his mounted light seemed to be swallowed by the pitch darkness of the corridors and just beyond the edges of his sight he felt a menacing presence.
“Hyst, snap out of it, man,” said Ben, as he gently shoulder checked Samuel with his own, “Let’s get top side.”
Samuel shook his head and turned to face Ben, “Just getting a little tight in here, first time jitters maybe.”
“You and me both, brother,” grunted Ben as he hefted his heavy machine gun and turned to follow the rest of the squad, “I don’t know what I expected after signing up, but it certainly wasn’t this.”