Rock, Paper, Scissors: A Slient Death Short Story

Flight officer Zephram Williams was going crazy. A slow creeping madness that intensified with every single boring rock he tagged. Where were the floating mountains of precious metals? The Scorched wreckage of salvageable warships? Or even the crystalline purity of an ice comet? Sure it was a plum assignment and his first command, but gawd was it boring.

When he’d signed up for this advance scouting mission, he’d expected some action. A covert survey expedition into the dark no man’s land prospecting a swarm of asteroids about to laid claim to be two bitter rivals. Both the Sigurd archdiocese and house Colos knew of the Asteroid cluster’s approach but neither was prepared to risk open warfare . . . yet. It was only a matter of time and of proximity. The closer the cluster got to both nations the more tempted they would be to exploit the promise of wealth they offered. As the supply lines shortened so would the tempers of the Sigurds and the Colosians. War was an inevitable as gravity, and like gravity it attracts objects. In this case a Kashmere Commonwealth prospecting venture.

Usually the Kashmere would limit their involvement in a potential dispute to supplying arms to both sides. While this was always profitable and preparations were underway to escalate armament shipments within both markets, there was potential for much more.

Zephram thought back to the naval attache’s office and the promises the Commonwealth recruiters had laid out for him. Wealth, adventure, rank, privilege and best of all the chance of combat. For an up and coming combat pilot it seemed a very sweet offer indeed. Especially for a Kashmere pilot, where a fighter scramble more often ended in an exchange of stocks than of lasers. So what if the venture was covert and no one would ever know if it succeeded or failed. So what if Flight Officer Williams and his entire crew would be disavowed as pirates and profiteers if they were discovered. So what if there would be no support if they got into trouble. So what if the Commonwealth required plausible deniablity. The important thing was that Zephram ‘Zeb’ Williams would see some action.

Unfortunately the only thing ‘Zeb’ had seen so far was chunk after chunk of boring rock. Sure a lot of them were rich with ore and the occasional one was even riddled with precious metals. ‘Zeb’s contract bonus had been steadily rising but his combat rating had stagnated. He’d racked up a respectable number of kills and successful sorties against pirates, but in his opinion he had yet to face a real pilot. Squaring off against Sigurd or Colos pilots now that would be a respectable test of his skills. Not dodging rocks in some godforsaken corner of nowhere, or scrubbing dust of his prospector.

"You still awake up there?"

Zephram was jolted out of his revere, by the voice of his copilot and fellow prospector.

Roger ‘Radar’ Thompson was as brash, equally headstrong and just as bored with this assignment as Zephram was. Naturally the two hit it off. Up and coming aces stuck on a tedious, though extremely profitable mission, wasting their ample talents hiding in the shadows.

"So you chasing shadows or dodging rocks?"

"It’s all shadows out here man. Even the shadows have shadows. If I have to tag, catalogue or classify another useless piece of rock I swear I’ll scream."

"Hey partner. Those rocks are going to make us rich. The Colosians will pay dearly for the data we’ve been collecting. Three months of prospecting will translate into a healthy bonus for us when they sign."

"What about Sigurd? Their money’s just as good."

‘Zeb’ leaned back in his pilot chair, kicking his feet up on the control console. Roger sighed recognizing his partner slipping into his elder brother lecture mode. Elder meaning he had enlisted a bare two weeks before Thompson had. Brother as in oh, brother, here it come again.

"Everyone knows those fanatics are untrustworthy. Look the Commonwealth have been helping them out for decades. Shipped them arms when they needed them."

"Well I don’t think they ever really needed our arms. Some people think that . . . "

"Some people are idiots. Now you listen to me, after all I’ve seen more action than you have. I’ve been around more than you after all."

‘Zeb’ gestured in the general location of the Sigurd Archdiocese, contempt obvious in his voice.

"When they needed us, we were there, not look at them, all high and mighty, too good to trade with us now. Trust me. The only good Odinson is the one you’ve got a tone on."

Williams shook his head. He’d heard his partner rant once too often on the subject of the Archdiocese. Someday soon he was in for a rude awakening. There was a reason the Sons of Odin had catapulted themselves from a backwater colony to a galactic power. Roger wanted to be there when it happened, just to see the look on ‘Zeb’s’ face.

"Now look at them," Zephram continued, oblivious to the boredom etched across his partner’s face.

"Pretentious as all get out, just because of a couple of luck breaks against the swarm. Why if I had . . . " His voice trailed off as his attention was drawn to an anomalous reading from the control station.

"What the hell . . . There’s a squadron of fighters on an intercept course."

"They’re the station’s defence force." ‘Radar’ announced without looking at his sensor board. Williams didn’t notice as he was engrossed in his own concerns.

"I can’t seem to raise them. Why are they out here, when they’re supposed to be guarding the station? Can you run a diagnostic on the comm. board?"

"It’s down ‘Zeb’." Thompson replied again without referencing his board. "And the transponder’s out as well."

"Damn! You’re right. The boys must’ve taken us for a hostile. How did you know that?"

"Easy. I disabled the comm. system and the transponder."

Flight Officer Williams turned slowly to face his copilot. Noticing first the grim smile on his face, then the military issue sidearm that he was pointing in his direction.

"Right about now a Sigurd longboat is approaching our station using our transponder codes to spoof the defences. Our ship is bait for the squadron. By the time they twig to the deception it will all be over."

"But why Thomson, why?"

"Let’s just say Odinson’s money as good as any other, not that you or the Commonwealth will see any of it."

The scout’s cockpit lit briefly for a moment, then after a moment turned it back on the approaching interceptors, before disappearing into the darks of space.