Ilo was welding an alloy sheet over a fresh asteroid dent, when dis mobile lit up.
- Hey. - Ilo answers, glancing at the caller name. - Changes?
Deiv on the other end is sounding nervous, hushed and a bit choked.
- Hey. Listen, no time. The system is being purged.
- Purged? - Ilo jolts in disbelief. - By whom? Why?
- Some black fleet. They booked the relay. The full works. Somebody wants this place clean. Real clean.
- When?!
- Right about now.
A few seconds after this, the space shatters on the fringes of the solar system. Ilo zooms and sees the ships entering through the breaches, in no real hurry.
- That's the forward warning?!
- That's the ony warning I could manage. - Deiv grunts and something tumbles around on dis end. - They booked the private service. I got fore, blackie's agent, and some merch breathing down my neck. They might have relaxed a bit now.
- Gee fucking thanks! - Ilo chucks dis gear in space and starts climbing to the airlock.
- Listen. I gotta go. They got fusion drones set to sterilize the debris. You should have some escape pills there.
These drones are reliable but not fast. Your only chance.
Ilo shuts off the call and cycles the airlock. Inside, de rips open the cargo pod and rummages inside. Ilo pulls out a bulky work mining suit. Before jumping in it, Ilo, with a shaky hand, sets the ship to emergency descent. After this, de jumps inside the cargo pod, covers dimself in other suits and other junk and assumes fetal position.
The ship starts to shake. The warning system goes through the motions, warning about the dangers of an emergency atmospheric descent. Then, in the middle of explaining the basics of extreme heat insulation, another warning cuts in:
- WARNING Immediate attack incoming. Point defense system missing or malfunctioning. Brace for impact.
Ilo curls up even harder and tries to disappear. There is a loud crash and then nothing.
Ilo feels the pain first, then the light. Whole body is sore. Ilo manages to open an eye a bit. Through the layer of blood-laced tears, Ilo sees an off-white room with unclear machinery. After moving dis head a bit, Ilo sees a tribal, leaning against a wall, lost in a tablet.
- Uh - Ilo manages.
Tribal glances over the tablet, surprised.
- Iu elaiv? - de asks in Simplified.
- Alive. - Ilo rasps.
Surprisingly, all limbs seem to be still attached, de thinks. This is no tribal healing hut. Is some memory missing?
- Where? - Ilo manages.
- Bigs-hip. - Tribal stashes the tablet, preparing for dis duty to entertain Ilo. - Sikret. Onli bring niir-ded hir. Nou autsaiders. Tshif seid iu not en autsaider. Tshif-azr laiks gad-talk tu mats.
Ilo flexes the muscles. All sore, but all working. Some stitches, some transplants. Ilo wipes the muck from the eyes, carefully rises. Medical bay of a big ship, no doubt. Nothing serious missing. An automatic surgeon hangs from the ceiling, a bit tarnished. The refuse bins are full, apparently with bits of Ilo on top of other, much older bits. Thankfully, sanitizer dispensers are also still quite full.
- Wan aut?
- Sure. Looks like I'm good to go... How much time?
- Wik.
With help of the tribal, Ilo dresses in some patchy but clean tribal clothing and hobbles to the exit.
- Ship?
- Dan. Sper-hit. Drapd intu leik, laik e star. Salvajid ia, soot ded. Tshif gaiv ze best kart tu bring ia hia. Gem-kart.
Outside, it's a long, rather spacey for a ship, corridor with emergency lightning active. Some of the lamps are missing. While walking down it, among the sounds of decaying machinery Ilo discerns a muffled, but still booming voice.
- Wait. Is there an outside view around?
Tribal leads Ilo down a side passage, helping to avoid debris hanging overhead. After some painful exercise. they emerge in front of a grand looking door, apparently welded open by unskilled but determined hands. Behind the door, there is the bridge of the ship. The equipment is mostly salvaged, but some of it has been marked in circles by chalk and is apparently untouched.
- Ze orijin-ship. Holy komputers. - Tribal carefully renews chalk outlines they come across.
- Mind if I use them?
Tribal is a bit hesitant but makes a dismissive gesture.
- Iur gud wid it. Komputers a smart. Wont let ia breik enisin.
Ilo glances around and sees turrets glinting in corners, as well as active cameras. This is probably an early AI-powered ship, designed to help and obey the settlers for a long time, even after a rough landing and an era of being stranded. Ilo touches the large screen of a computer. It's easy enough to access the functions any settler might need. An outside view, a sound relay...
Most of the cameras are dark. One of them, however, still provides a view of top of the ship. The ship is mostly buried, first by landing, then by elements, then by colonists trying to conceal it. High in the sky, there is an alien object flying around. Ilo turns up the sound.
- LOCAL RESIDENTS! - a generated voice comes through a dusty speaker. - THIS PLANET IS GOING TO BE PURGED OF ALL SENTIENT LIFE. WE HAVE DEPLOYED HUNTER-KILLER DRONES WHICH WILL ERADICATE EVERY ONE OF YOU, SOONER OR LATER. PLEASE DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND LINE UP OUTSIDE OF YOUR DOMICILES. YOUR END WILL BE SWIFT AND PAINLESS. UNLESS THE POPULATION SUBMITS, THE NEXT TERROR DEMONSTRATION WILL BEGIN IN THREE HOURS. THIS MESSAGE WILL REPEAT IN SIMPLIFIED. LOKAL REZIDENTS...
Ilo lowers the volume. The planet is finished. The solar system is finished. Ilo is finished. The purge can't be stopped. Not with the leftover colony weapons, not even with a decaying hulk of a colony ship. If only Ilo was a weapon trafficker...
Ilo drops into crew's chair and out of habit scratches the chemo port scars. Much more sore spots now. With pleasure, Ilo scratches them all. Death of infection is probably better than a discount fusion drone cooking you up.
- Hey, - Ilo awkwardly waves to the tribal. - Thanks. Sorry, what is your name?
- Oscar J Jones - tribal suddenly carefully says in classic English.
Ilo, taken by surprise by that, jerks, then laughs and proceeds into a painful cough. The Death of Ego didn't reach here. it seems. They use classic names.
- Well, Oscar, nice to meet you and die together. I am Ilo, citizen of Zaruvan free world, licensed spacefarer. - Ilo extended a hand to shake Oscar's.
Suddenly, the screen reacts to the words said.
- Hello, Ilo. I am the captain's automatic assistant. Your identification, license and chain of command is confirmed. The SCS Wayfarer is ready to be commanded. It has been 789 years of dormancy. Would you like to reactivate the ship's license?
Ilo, once again, jerks and cowers in pain from dis stiched together body. Well, why not entertain the AI, he thought.
- Hello. Yes, captain Ilo here. I'd like to reactivate the ship's license.
- Reactivating the license. Sorry, network connection is offline. Please try to reactivate the license when in range of a network relay.
Ilo slumps back into the chair. Yeah, sure, a network relay, just let me resurrect the Sol and connect to it...
- Activating emergency subsystem set. Electromagnetic communication - online. Medical bay - online. Fabrication lab - online, maintenance required. Maintenance servos - offline. Construction manipulators - online. Defense systems - online.
With an even more painful backlash, Ilo jumps back into reality from a resigned haze. A defense system? That must be a really old ship.
- List defense systems.
- Point defense Gauss array - online. Missile launch bays - maintenance needed. Ammunition stocks - inventory out of date.
This could be interesting.
- Activate point defense, no-fly zone protocol.
- Identification needed.
Ilo studies dis palms. Seem to be still dis. The miner's gloves did their last job well. Ilo puts a palm on the screen.
- Identification confirmed. Logged abnormal health conditions, commander Ilo, report to the medical bay after duty hours. Please confirm no-fly zone authorization.
- No-fly zones authorization confirmed.
Ilo turns the outside view back on. With heartrate rising, Ilo and Oscar both watch the point defense cannon rise from dirt-covered opening. With surprising grace, the servo calibrates and points at the announcement drone flying overhead. A gauss round turns the drone into a wreck.
Ilo whirls around in a chair, disregarding the body's protests.
- Establish electromagnetic communications with the orbit. The largest ship there.
Another bay opens, throwing dirt apart. An antique satellite dish tunes to the sky.
- Communication protocols automatically detected.
- Request the captain's meeting.
After a brief establishment, a video link appears on screen. A surprised looking haggard fellow is looking back, in a repurposed imperial uniform. Behind the captain, a banner, a bleak sword before a bright star, swaying in a breeze.
- Hello, captain. Whatcha want? This system is being purged, have you not caught the broadcast? We'd rather not have you in the blast, would you kindly leave? Also, your comms don't have the name. - the pirate captain nervously says.
Ilo grins and gathers all the hate for empires, free worlds and their mercenaries accrued over the years, with a bit of resentment towards Void Church.
- Pleased to meet you. Captain Ilo, SCS Your Worst Nightmare.