Corporate Obstruction

Excerpt from Screw's log#32: Drills Of Pandora

The sun of Syri casts a deep purple glow across an expanse of space, shadows extending from where the light failed to penetrate, through moons, asteroids, and the Liao blockade fleet. Majestic.

And then a lock of hair floats into view, adding an annoying crescent obstruction. An annoyed huff blows it out of view, only to fog up the interior of the helmet.
Great, not only had she failed to fully secure her hair in the hairnet, she'd also forgotten to apply the anti-fogging agent.

"We really should've made this plan A" engineer Screw grumbled to no one in particular.
Her hands checked that the harness was still holding her securely to the ship. She'd have to go through airlock compression, get out of the suit, fix her hair, clean the helmet, put the suit back on, go through airlock decompression, and down the tether.
She commits the position of her tools and the last step she'd carried out to her memory implant, a reminder to finally splurge and upgrade her suit with an automated defogger, and begins the motions.

And then the world grows just a bit darker.

"La naiba!" she yelps, immediately focusing her psionic energy to her limbs, infusing them with power beyond what their frame could ever exert normally.
She wheels around, sensing for the location of any observers. If one of the Liao ships managed to reach them without tripping the proximity sensors, they were well and truly cooked, literally if what she'd heard about thermic cannons' effect on human flesh was true.

Her psionic senses ping someone to her left, and she turns her body there, her exceptional control over her movements in micro-gravity allowing her to maintain her absolute position instead of drifting away helplessly with such sudden motions.
Nothing. A full turn, and nothing.
Her senses pick someone to her right, and she turns again.
Nothing.

Then she feels a poke on her neck, and her head jerks to her front.
He was there. That nenorocitul drone was there. Her eyes had glanced over the inexplicably forgettable white hazard suit.

"WHAT" she bellowed "ARE YOU Doiⁿᵍ?!" and her voice cracked.
The panic gave way to anger, and the dam of frustrations that had been building up over the past hour since their last argument was about to burst.

"Anti-glare helps your helmet's surface cool, which causes fogging" Heyreddin answers curtly.
"Older suits of your model include a defogger that automatically activates when the anti-glare turns on, to prevent fatalities. Corporate later locked the feature behind a paywall, and all their shops do is unlock it again. Patch didn't take well to the older models, so you can still activate it on them by turning your anti-glare shields on"

The flood of curses is stymied, as she finally spots the little blinking text on her helmet's HUD.
DEFOGGING... Her hand moves to a button on her wrist, and deactivates the anti-glare.
He was right. The fog was gone.
And through the now clear helmet, she looks at his. He always had his anti-glare on, hiding his features from any observers. She never saw him without it, even during shore leave.

But even without an emotional assessor, she knew.
She knew without a shadow of a doubt, that the prick, despite his flat tone of voice, was wearing a shit-eating grin, and was mocking her for not knowing this one specific tidbit.

She points behind him, towards a jumble of tools that was slowly drifting away from a ramshackle thruster.
"Should've probably secured those before you came over here for the lecture, cioară" she mirrored the very same shit-eating grin she imagined his face held.
She further imagined herself draining it from his face, leaving behind a-
"Ah fuck you wingnut"
Yep. Panic. Annoyance. A mad scramble to mirror hers of a few seconds ago.
All was right in the world.

She glances over her own ramshackle thruster. It took her half an hour to drill it properly into the asteroid she was working on. It was a pitiful thing, barely good enough to provide a hover-scooter with enough thrust to get to a grocery store on normal gravity.
Up here in micro-gravity though, that was all they'd need for their plan.

She then gazed over to half a dozen other asteroids, each with an already properly secured thruster.
"Plan B better come into play, or I'm chaining you to me next time and forcing you to work alongside, Steele. Suit or no suit" she says to someone very particular through her comms.
"We're more likely to get paid if it never does, Screw. It's a precaution in case there are hiccups" came the relaxed response from a man sipping what she could only assume was a tropical punch. Yeah, she did feel like punching him alright.
"There's always hiccups" she retorted. "And why do I have to work with this f-"
"Because, Screw" he interrupted her "I'd just received word that you were about to waste nearly an hour fixing something he fixed in seconds. Like it or not, you two work better when together. Now get on with it, we've got a schedule to keep to"

It was just as well that Steele had enough forethought to cut the line there and then, as the stream of expletives that erupted from Screw's mouth caused her helmet to fog up again.
Switching the anti-glare on and off again, she unloaded another stream, this time filling it with spittle.

She briefly considered if she could attribute a chucked spanner at the drone's head to a self-inflicted accident. Then decided having to clean up the mess and retrieve the decompressed corpse wasn't worth it, and got back to her own task.

---

Excerpt from Heyreddin's log#405: Special Delivery

Fingers tip-tap a lever. Other fingers tip-tap a joystick.
"This is my idea. My idea is solid. It will succeed" he kept muttering to himself unconvincingly.

The jettison lever was hooked to an automated timer that would disconnect the auxiliary shuttle from the Pandora.
If his and the crone's math held any water, it would have near-zero inertia upon the Pandora's exit of the spaceslip.
He still had to keep his hand on it in case the timer fizzled out. It would not be funny to be set adrift during a spaceslip.

ETA 2m 42s... ETA 2m 41s... ETA 2m 40s...

"This is a safe plan. This is a marvelous plan. We will not die" his voice was bordering hysteria at this point, when his communicator chirped. Apparently he'd forgotten to turn it off.
"Ugh, would you quit pissing your pants, you're making the cargo nervous" commented the crone.
"I am not nervous. I recognize this as a coping mechanism, and would be willing to hold our pilot's hand if it would make him feel more at ease" piped in the cyborg with his signature deadpan remarks. "I object to the classification as cargo though, as I believe it could be misconstrued as dehum-"
"HAHAHAHA" the crone guffawed "DID YOU HEAR THAT DRONE? THE CYBORG IS WILLING TO HOLD YOUR HAND! HAHAHAHA-"

Heyreddin muted his comms. While he appreciated the distraction from the stressful situation, he also needed to be fully focused on the task at hand.
He glanced at the timer:

ETA 1m 19s... ETA 1m 18s... ETA 1m 17s...

Once they were disconnected, he'd have to maneuver the shuttle with as minimal of a heat signature as possible into position. Every jerk would increase their chances of getting spotted, and summarily incinerated.
He looked back to his cargo. Cyborg, Psychic, and Gunman. Only the Gunman looked as nervous as he should be, but he supposed that was more due to him knowing how to articulate his emotions. The psychic did not seem like he was capable of emoting, and the cyborg probably removed his ability to long ago.

ETA 35s... ETA 34s... ETA 33s...

He gulped and double checked the shuttle's exterior through the Pandora's hangar feed. The rocky camo he'd painstakingly applied over it for the past week made it look indistinguishable from an actual asteroid. Considering it was actual rock, it also helped shield the interior from scanners.
He did not look forward to having to peel it after the mission was over.
Could he just ride it down a planet and let the camo burn off on the atmosphere?

ETA 5s... ETA 4s... ETA 3s... ETA 2s... ETA 1s... EXITING SPACESLIP

---

Excerpt from Liao Security Fleet "Union Buster" system log

294-03-21_02:40:05:0239_61100934 ‎ ‎ Ship-01-Sensor-Array-054 ‎ ‎ Unidentified entity. Spectrometer signature: 400x100x50 m. Thermal signature: 323.15 k.
294-03-21_02:40:05:0245_61100951 ‎ ‎ Ship-01-Sensor-Array-054 ‎ ‎ Pinging Ship-01-Sensor-Array-207 for short range scan...
294-03-21_02:40:05:0311_61101006 ‎ ‎ Ship-01-Sensor-Array-207 ‎ ‎ Coordinates received. Scanning...
294-03-21_02:40:06:9004_61101462 ‎ ‎ Ship-01-Sensor-Array-207 ‎ ‎ Scanning complete. Spectrometer signature: 20x10x10 meters. Thermal signature: -174 k.
294-03-21_02:40:06:9020_61101483 ‎ ‎ Ship-01-Sensor-Array-207 ‎ ‎ Pinging Ship-01-Processor-1046 with readings for analysis...
294-03-21_02:40:06:9042_61101402 ‎ ‎ Ship-01-Processor-1046 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Readings received. Processing...
294-03-21_02:40:07:2309_61102005 ‎ ‎ Ship-01-Processor-1046 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Processing complete. Result: Asteroid.
294-03-21_02:40:07:2509_61102038 ‎ ‎ Ship-01-Processor-1046 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Pinging Ship-01-IT-Desk for maintenance of Ship-01-Sensor-Array-054...

---

Heyreddin breathes out a relieved sigh, then turns to the "cargo" as the crone called them.
"Don't touch the controls. I'll signal you when the maintenance hatch is open and the PMA is secured"

No response. He unlatches his harness, drifting in the micro-gravity for an instant before he begins treading his way to the trio.
"I said I'll signal-" they did not seem to be reacting to his words, deeply engrossed in some kind of conversation.
He realizes he hadn't unmuted his comms yet. He turns them on.

"-and then I had ta drag dang ol' Bessy's right-side up again an' up th' voltage on th' darn whatsit-"
"Voltage regulator, though it is curious that you were using such an outmod-"
"Aye, tha'. An' then th' dang ol' cow still manage' ta get 'erself stuck in-"
Lovely. They were discussing pre-processing hamburgers, when they were a stray wire away from becoming ones themselves.

"As I was saying" he interrupts the no doubt interesting follow-up to Bessy's hijinks "I'll be going out on a space walk. I'll signal you when the PMA is connected and you can board. We're undetected so far, but I'd rather not risk someone looking out of a window or chancing upon us during a maintenance run. Any questions?"

The cyborg raises a hand.
"The PMA is the hermetic bridge that connects ships together for docking sequences" Heyreddin explains patiently.
The cyborg lowers a hand.

"Great, nobody touch the controls or they're toasting your hams as soon as the sensors pick it up" he warns.
Two nod, while the psychic just continues staring blankly. He takes that as confirmation enough as he steps into the airlock, and begins the decompression procedure.

Showtime.

---

Excerpt from Lorik's log#8442: Emergency Maintenance

The hum of processors, the cold vent air, the blinking lights... the capital ship's server room felt just like home.

"Anytime now, pardner" the man next to him whispered, snapping Lorik out of his nostalgic reverie.
"Yes, gunslinging meat turret, I am working on it" he mutters back with what would be mistaken as nonchalance by strangers, but what one of the two crewmembers of Pandora who were not missing core social abilities could easily discern as annoyance.
"Sorry 'bout that, it's just that that Howdyreddin fella said we're on a time crunch" the cowboy apologized.
"And speaking of crunches" Lorik changed the subject, stepping on a tied up technician's foot and switching to him "Tell me what the admin passcode is and you will retain full usage of all four of your limbs and twenty of the sum of your fingers and toes"

The technician was sat next to a dozen other IT personnel, all tied up by William. Their eyes were wide in fear.
"I-I don't kn-know the p-p-passco-" the technician's stammering was cut short with a low but audible crunch "AHHHHH!"

"You have lost full usage of one of your fingers. Tell me the admin passcode, and you will retain full usage of all four of your limbs and nineteen of the sum of your fingers and toes" came the emotionless, nigh-robotic reply.
"Pardner" William looked uncomfortable "There's better ways..."
"I thought you said we were on a time crunch, ranch manager" Lorik retorted.
"Can't you just hack that thingmajig?" William asked.
"No my undereducated simian friend. My expertise lies in building machines, not speaking to them like you speak to your bovines-"
He then snaps his fingers "Ah, I see, you meant I am only deploying the stick and have forgotten about the carrot. Excellent observation! I forgot to apply the basics of animal taming"

Lorik fumbles with his pockets, and pulls out a lollypop. He dangles it in front of the technician.
"If you tell me the admin passcode, not only will you retain full usage of all four of your limbs and nineteen of the sum of your fingers and toes, but I will also allow you to suck on this Scrappy's Lickables™ Fuel Rod Fumes flavored lollypop until it fully melts in your mouth. I would take that deal if I were you" he attempts his best approximation of a smile, but all he accomplishes is showing teeth.

"N-rgh-no like I s-said I don't know it! I'm just an intern!" the technician pleaded.
Lorik stared at the bearded middle aged technician, and oldest man in the room.
"I see. I have made a mistake it seems by judging your position based on your appearance" he unwraps the lollypop and stuffs it into the technician's mouth.
"Thank you for your cooperation" Lorik says, as he turns to the rest of the IT personnel.
"You have a collective of forty eight limbs and a sum of two hundred and forty fingers and toes. If you wish to keep use of all of them, you will tell me the admin passcode. I only possess one more Scrappy Lickables™ Grilled Canary flavor lollypop, and I do not plan on sharing it. As such, I will be crunching a random set of twelve fingers and toes each time my question is not answered. This should speed up the process by several magnitudes" Lorik delivered his ultimatum.

A few minutes and a dozen broken fingers and toes later, Lorik had access to the ship's maintenance routines.

294-03-21_03:12:47:0238_61105244 ‎ ‎ Ship-01-IT-Desk admin: ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ For each Ship X, Point-Defense-Array Y, mark Ship-X-Point-Defense-Array-Y for emergency maintenance
294-03-21_03:14:20:0114_61105248 ‎ ‎ Ship-01-IT-Desk admin: ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ping Ship-01-Maintenance-Terminal-4580 with message: "Plan B is set"

"Guess that's my cue" a soft voice whispers in Lorik's ear, causing him to jump in surprise, his tail lashing around, smashing a terminal, but missing Reth who deftly dodges out of the way.
"DON'T CREE-cough Kindly do not surprise me like that again, psychic human. I could have hit you" Lorik said, fixing his posture back to self-assured.
"No, you could not have" comes Reth's deadpan response, as he exits the server room, followed by William.

Lorik begins moving some of the terminals to the door, blocking it. He then sits on one of the swivel chairs, and begins drifting this way and that through the room, spinning in place, absentmindedly.
"Do you realize what you're doing? You're picking a fight with Liao Chemicals! None of you are gonna make it out of here alive!" one of the braver technicians who'd made it out of the interrogation unmolested through sheer luck spoke out.

The small scientist paused in his movement, and turned towards the technician.
"If we do not" his lips finally moved into a natural smile, but not a friendly one. This one was of malevolence.
"No one will"

---

Excerpt from William's log#9: Hold The Lift

The capital ship of the Liao Chemicals blockade fleet had a defense-in-depth approach to its layout, wherein any boarders that managed to latch onto any of its external points would be funneled into strongpoints all the way up to the bridge that were easy to defend against invasion from the outside, hard to defend against counter-attacks from the internal garrison, and were near impossible to circumvent once lockdown was initiated.
An assault would have to go through each strongpoint while bleeding numbers and morale, with each counterattack progressively harder to defend against, until the boarders' flame was exhausted.

The design had one flaw, however.
It predicated itself on the fact that any boarding party large enough to take over the ship would be immediately detected by its various sensor arrays, allowing for time to marshal the garrison, deploy barriers, and slowly exhaust boarders outside-in.

It did not account for the possibility of a ship dropping out of a non-standard spaceslip, unlatching a heavily camouflaged shuttle then departing within less than a second before the sensor arrays could confirm its signature, said shuttle positioning itself so inexplicably closely and naturally adjacent to the ship as to appear like a normal asteroid, and then a small elite squad covertly entering through one of the maintenance hatches, quietly subduing all guards on their way to the main server room, and initiating the lockdown in such a way as to fragment the garrison, allowing for only small pockets to make their way to the only elevator leading to the bridge.

And it was from the corridor leading to that same elevator that gunshots had been ringing for the past ten minutes.

A lone gunslinger stood in front of the elevator doors. Littered throughout the corridor was a score of bodies, bleeding or dead. A still-smoking hand-cannon was holstered in his belt, one hand hovered an inch away, ready for trouble.

And trouble did come. A foot appeared from the corner at the end of the corridor, and it disappeared before the leg it connected to followed. The wall far behind it received a sizable dent, as if a rhino had charged it and left behind its horn.
The rest of the poor now-footless security guard's body dropped down to the floor, his ballistic shield clattering to the side uselessly. His face was still registering the shock he felt, the pain still not reaching his brain, when a fist sized tunnel appeared in his head, splattering what few shreds of his skull still remained on the feet of the guards that moved behind him.
The hand cannon's recoil was so strong it would've shattered lesser wrists, even if braced with both hands. The gunslinger however wielded it with impunity, using the other to repeatedly cock the hammer in a fanning motion straight out of a western holovid.

Five men, each armed with a ballistic shield, charged down the hallway, hoping to get close enough to the gunslinger to hit him with a full blast of their shotguns. As the earlier corpses attested, attempts to hit him from the end of the corridor failed, as he'd inexplicably dodged out of the way, or simply took a faceful of pellets like so many tumbleweeds.

He loosed a shot into one of the ballistic shields. The impact hit its wielder like a sledgehammer, staggering him, but failing to penetrate.
The security guards were encouraged, redoubling their pace. The gunslinger's monstrous hand cannon could not penetrate their shields!
The gunslinger frowned.

He then aimed his gun down at the bottom of the shield of the front-running guard, and fired. The bullet ricocheted off it, the impact causing the guard's hold of the shield to falter, exposing his face for an instant.
An instant was all it took for another bullet to find an unobstructed path to his face. The shower of gray matter shocked one of the guards to his side, causing him to briefly stumble, slowing down the group as they pushed him forward.
The gunslinger made use of the folly, emptying out five .600 NE spent cartridges, and reloading his revolver before the sound of them clattering on the ground finished ringing.

The remaining guards had not wasted their time either, bunching up into a tight phalanx-like formation, shields at the front. They lowered their stance until their shields were dragging on the ground, providing them with enough support to render further destabilizing shots ineffectual.
They were Liao Chemical's best, and their training included small unit tactics to counter heavy weaponry.
One of them raised his shotgun one handed above the shield line to blind-fire. This proved to be a mistake, as the gunslinger was quicker on the draw, and a severed hand flew through the air.

Step by step the guards approached, grimly passing over the corpses of their compatriots.
BANG
A bullet was fully stopped by one of the shields. The shield-holder's allies holding him in place, helping him remain steady.
BANG
Another bullet was fully stopped by the same shield. This time the impact did not even faze the shield wielder. He allowed himself a self-assured grin.
Which quickly fell when he realized that the shot had impacted the same exact position on his shield. Right in the shield's viewport.
BANG
CRASH
And the viewport shattered, the third bullet slowed enough to embed itself fully into the center of the guard's skull, instead of carving a smooth path like the others.
He drops, and a hole is left in the phalanx. A hole that is quickly exploited, as an arm that reaches to help the fallen comrade is immediately severed from its owner.

Five more spent cartridges are ejected, a speedloader is applied and discarded, and four more rounds shatter the last uninjured guard's shield, the fourth finishing him off.
Another speedloader, and the rest of the injured guards are given a merciful death.

The gunslinger sighs, and pulls out a cigar, using the red-hot barrel of his revolver to light it. He takes a deep drag, then blows.
"Sure hope ya get it done with soon, Reth. I don't fancy widowing anymore wives today" he muttered.

A burst of static, then gunfire through the communicator, as Reth replied back in an ice-calm tone "I am dealing with unexpectedly high resistance. Projection: two minutes, eighteen seconds"

---

Excerpt from Reth's log#3: Moon Walk

Ding
Ding
Ding
The floors go by.
Mess hall, bar, janitorial depot... was that a swimming pool?
Ding
Ding
Ding-Dong
Finally. The bridge.

The doors slides open an inch, revealing a glimpse of what awaited.
Armed guards.

An inch was more than sufficient.
A lone swordsman strolls through a burning mansion. A bloody mist hangs in the air. He stops in front of a cowering woman, begging for mercy. He raises his sword high-
-and swings it in a downward slash.
It passes through the gap, the helmet, skull, neck, chest, before finally exiting through the torso, leaving a cleanly sliced guard in its wake.

Two inches.
Two swordsmen approach, both are swinging from different angles. No chance to parry.
So be it. He adopts a sheathed blade stance, breathes in. And releases two one-armed stabs in quick succession, extending his blade's range beyond what should have been possible. The tip of his blade plunges straight through-
-each guard's nose. Sensitive, much easier to target than the eyes. They collapse in pained confusion before their eyes even register his appearance.

Five inches.
He notes the last two guards. They'd taken instinctive steps back and to the side-
-drawing their own spears. Shocked, but no less arrogant, confident in the safety their longer reach would provide them.
His leg muscles tense, before launching him through the gap in their guards, six feet closer to the one on the right.
His blade slices through fingers, arm, and thigh. Through the same motion, he makes another leap, this time to the one on the left. His blade's motion does not abate as it-
-cuts through the final guard's SMG, severing his throat from his body.

He finally stands still, surrounded by gore and dead men. He flicks his blade free of blood and viscera, and picks an SMG up from the ground.
Memories begin to rush in. Riots being quelled, a row of prisoners executed, and a night of strange but exceptional passions... he files that last away. The weapon had seen combat. Good. He can use it.

He walks down the short corridor and kicks the door ahead open.
And received a hail of gunfire for his troubles.

His body moved before he could tell it to, dropping his weapons to the ground and heaving the reinforced door off its hinges-
-easier to lift it on a forklift, but by gum he wadn't aboutta work overtime when he was two weeks from retirement! 'sides, the young 'uns needed reminding that he wadn't head engie for nuttin'.
One hand unlatches the fasteners with practiced ease, while the other jiggles it free-
-as the hail of bullets impacting him is finally blocked.

The voice in his ear chirps up with a tired drawl. The gunslinger's: "Sure hope ya get it done with soon, Reth"
He wipes his skin of spent lead. 9mm. Small caliber.
He focuses his senses. Electroreception returns at least a dozen entities in the room aside from him. In the split second of the door opening, his eyes registered one particularly large mounted machine gun, which would explain the discernible hammering that he would not otherwise associate with small caliber submachine guns. He was lucky it hadn't struck him directly, or his subdermal armor would have shattered.

About twelve gunmen, and a heavy machine gun. Ten seconds apiece for the former, eighteen for the latter.
He responds: "I am dealing with unexpectedly high resistance. Projection: two minutes, eighteen seconds"

He lifted the heavy door into the air, and kicked it towards the heavy machine gunner. It won't reach, but it will expand the area of his cover momentarily. He swipes the SMG and sword from the floor, and dives into a slide towards the first gunner. His blade sliced through him like so much-
-butter. An arrow struck his side, and he flung his blade at the cowardly archer, striking him square in-
-the skull, splitting it in half as the blade continued towards the far wall, plunging halfway through.
That was a mistake. He should not have relied on the memories so.

He grabs one part of the corpse he'd just cut in half, and uses it as an impromptu shield, rushing to the next gunner in line.
Discarding the lead-filled shield onto the gunner as a distraction, he empties half a clip across his midsection, then somersaults behind a control panel for cover.
"Ten to go. Two minutes. Good time"

---

Excerpt from Steele's log#1336-9: Pleasurable Business

A 3D model of the Liao Chemicals flagship floated in the middle of the helm of the SC Wings of Pandora. Courtesy of the Glare Network, the model was of such detail, the serial number written on each bolt could be zoomed into and transcribed.
On its outside floated a white point labeled Heyreddin. Inside it, just short of the elevator leading to the bridge, stood a brown point labeled William. Down in the lower decks, in the server room, the grey dot of Lorik paced around in constant near perfect circular motions. And just outside the bridge, a blue point labeled Reth was jittering around wildly.

Next to the model, a man in a Hawaiian shirt floated in zero-G, appreciative of the ease by which he could follow on the mission's progress, but more importantly, a drink he had in hand.
Sluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp
"This is the life" he thought to himself, as he listened to Reth slaughter a dozen gunmen just under two minutes.

This crew he'd managed to round up from Haven was shaping up to be exceptionally effective... certain hiccups aside. He glanced over to Screw who was staring daggers at the white dot, her eyes commanding it to make a misstep and float away into the ether.

"Gunners done. Moving into bridge proper" came Reth's voice on comms.
"Hurry pardner" William pleaded, as he was forced into another firefight by security stragglers, this time wheeling in with portable cover.

Steele finishes his drink, and tosses the container towards the waste chute. It zooms past an annoyed Screw, deflecting off the chute edge, an actual floating screw, and down a corner behind a terminal. He curses, and gestures to Screw to pick it up, which is replied to with a rude gesture.
He sighs, and taps off his comfortable berth, towards the monitor. He reaches behind the monitor, fumbling for the container. His fingers finally managed to grasp it, and he pulls it out. He delivers it into the waste chute this time, and returns to his berth, pulling out a new drink, and inserting the straw.

He finally registers the cries of pain coming through comms.
"ARRRRRGH" came a rough screech, as if a throat was dragged through glass.
"Reth? Reth buddy, what's wrong?!" William asked through choppy comms, as he struggled against the onslaught of security on his end.

"Reth, what's your status? I order you to answer!" Steele asked with a faked confidence that barely made it into his voice. Screw could see he was trembling in worry. His hand reached for his chest. Palpitations, but nothing he couldn't handle.
"AIIEEEEEEE!" Reth's screams continued.

There was no talking to Reth in his state. So Steele did what made him indispensable in the role of mission control.
He spoke to his mind.
"Talk to me Reth" a voice echoed through Reth's psyche. It was calm. Calming.
"Intel faulty. Captain had psychic screamer in retinue. No time to pop psi-blockers. Am in immense pain" came Reth's signature icy-calm reply.
A calm Steele did not share.

His mind raced. William could save Reth, but he would not reach in time, and he was engaged with security regardless. Lorik could theoretically sabotage the bridge, but any damaging effect such as draining oxygen could harm Reth as well, and he was unlikely to recover from the scream faster than the captain's crew acclimated to what changes were made. Plan B would do more harm than good at this stage. And Heyreddin was useless outside the ship with his damn fla-
That's it!

Steele: "Heyreddin, how long would it take you to tread your way up to the bridge view ports?"
Heyreddin: "Uhh... twenty, thirty decks at least, with the fuel I got for correctio-"
Steele: "Heyreddin! Reth's life is on the line!"
Heyreddin: "Aw fu-fine, forty seconds and I better get a bonu-"
Steele: "You got twenty and then I'll give Screw the go-ahead to take potshots at your frosted ass!"
Screw: "Pinky promise?"
Steele: "Not now Screw. Lorik, I want you to disable the bridge anti-glare in exactly twenty seconds"
Lorik: "But I am not sufficiently fami-"
Steele: "You are authorized to shoot until they comply"
Lorik: "Affirmative. Hey, you! BANG"
Steele: "Hang in there Reth"
Reth: "..."
Steele: "Are you still alive?"
Reth: "Vocal chords shot. Heartbeat erratic. Two major muscle groups torn. I'll live"
Steele: "Good man, help is on the way"

Reth's communicator chirps, and a stranger's voice comes through.
???: "Am I speaking to the head honcho of this hare-brained operation?" It was gravelly, aged. Humorless.
Steele: "Yes, this is him speaking. Do I have the honor of addressing the commander of the LC Nutcracker, captain Robert Hawkins?"
Captain Hawkins: "You have me at a disadvantage"
Steele: "Yes yes, my manners. This is Jack Steele, captain of the SC Wings of Pandora and her crew"
Captain Hawkins: "Pleasure. Now that we're well-acquainted, let's discuss the terms of your surrender"
Steele: "I think not" he glanced over to the white dot hugging the bridge "Heyreddin, prioritize the psion, maim rather than kill where possible"
Heyreddin: "Acknowledged. Taking the shot"
Captain Hawkins: "Wha-why is it so brigh-PEW-ARRRGH"

Just in the nick of time. Steele kills the link for now, leaving Heyreddin pick off the helpless retinue through the glass, and initiates a very high profile call. Time to bluff like it's election week and his opponent just promised zero taxes for the first year.

---

Rear admiral Jin Muzong was in the middle of his daily spa treatment when he received word of a high priority call being patched through the LC Nutcracker using its captain's emergency code, addressed to him.
That damned Hawkins had promised him the refinery would be back in their hands in a week. Had he managed to exceed expectations? The board would be very pleased.

He quickly rinses off, and dresses up in simple robes, making his way to his lavish office, decorated with ancient pottery from old earth aplenty. A real fireplace crackled right under the conference screen in the center of his room.
He slides into his comfortable chair, and accepts the call.

The face that greeted his was not that of the familiar gruff captain Robert Hawkins, but of a slovenly mustachioed man in a garish shirt of some sort.

Steele: "Greetings rear admiral. I bet you are considerably and understandably confu-"
Admiral Jin: "Name and rank" his tone was bored, disappointed even. He'll have to fire his secretary. Shame, he liked her dumplings.
Steele: "I assure you sir, this is no-"
Admiral Jin: "Mrs. Li? You may pack your bags and search for other employment. I wish you the best" he got up from his chair and sent a message to his secretary. His finger hovered over the button to hang up the call, debating over whether he should continue to grill this joker or have someone else do it.
Steele: "Aw, don't fire Mrs. Li, how will she be able to pay Mr. Li's medical bills anymore? I tell you what le-"
Admiral Jin: "You have one minute to be funny enough to convince me not to have your parents' house torpedoed. I am an admiral, do not doubt what I can do, pissant" he'd decided to go for entertainment. He slid back into his chair, putting his hands behind his head, and leaned back. His face held a bemused expression at watching the joker squirm.
Steele: "... Fine. On your own head be it. Screw, send asteroids B5 and B6 to ship 4. That one's full of retirees, less will miss 'em"
Screw: "Acknowledged" a girl in the background cheered with a bit of mania in her voice.
Steele: "I'll patch you into ship 4's comms, rear admiral. God have mercy on your soul"

The man's face disappeared from the screen, and in its place was a feed of... was that the blockade fleet around the Syri system refinery?
A few seconds later, panicked radio chatter began to filter in through the screen. Mention of short range scanners picking up on unnatural asteroid activity. Point defenses being non-functional due to an unscheduled maintenance process. Screams of fear spreading through the bridge by command staff, pleading to gods new and old for forgiveness. One man apologized to his granddaughter for not being able to see her again.
And then two asteroids streaked through the ship, splitting it into three quickly disintegrating pieces.
The radio went silent.

Moments later, the stranger replaced the feed of the fleet once more. His expression was grave.
"Are you laughing yet, rear admiral?" he asked in an accusatory tone.
Admiral Jin for his part had been transfixed to the screen, his fingers already dug holes into his chair's armrests.
The man had ordered the deaths of several thousand with a few words, and they were powerless to resist. He was intimately familiar with this situation, but never on the receiving end.

Steele: "Now that I have your attention, I hope you'll understand that I have the entirety of your blockade fleet in the palm of my hands, and can crush them at will. The only reason I do not do so is because I'd rather not add that many more deaths on my conscience, so I figured I'd share the burden. You have ten minutes to order a full retreat of your fleet out of the Syri system. I will destroy another ship for each minute after that that my demands are not next
Admiral Jin: "I can't just-there's an order to such-how an I supposed to-"
Steele: "I'm giving you ten times the grace period you gave me admiral. If you wish to discuss the details of our job and how it could be put into fixing your reputation in the future, you can call me on this transmission code. The Wings of Pandora accept any contract, as long as the pay is right. Tick-tock, rear admiral"

The stranger ended the call abruptly, leaving rear admiral Jin to his slowly panicking thoughts

---

Screw: "So, what do we do with asteroids 1-4?"
Steele: "Dump them in the local sun. No reason to leave evidence lying around"
Lorik: "So he bought it?"
Steele: "It was either explain a retreat to his superiors, or the loss of an entire fleet to the insurance company. If I were him, I'd shoot myself before dealing with the latter"
Heyreddin: "So am I gonna get my bonus for beating the clock...?"
Steele: "Drinks are on me once we're back in Haven guys"
Heyreddin: "Steele you moth-"
Lorik: "I will design an automated emergency induction port for Reth, so he can join us from his cast"
Screw: "Dibs on feeding duty"
William: "Babe, you creep the kid ou-"
Screw: "If you don't shut it I'll bolt your spurs to the septic tank again"
William: "... mum's the word"
Heyreddin: "Fuck you all, I'm taking the Gambier job!"
Steele: "Just remember to be back in time for the next contract"
Heyreddin: "If it goes well I won't need to!"
...
Steele: "... he'll be back. I hope. Could've gone south without him"
Screw: "Plan B would've carried"
Steele: "Would've taken twice as much time just to finish the six we'd had, and another month for the rest. Contract would've been swarmed by takers by then"
Reth: "I owe him my life"
Screw: "... I just hate his guts"
Lorik: "Aye"
Steele: "Aye"
William: "Ehh, I'd say his confidence is well ear-"
Screw: ༽◺_◿༼
William: "Guts, yeah, can't stand 'em"
Steele: "Thank you for going with the grain William. Now, about those drinks..."