Dark Coordinates Pt. 01 - The Job

Raia's world was one of abject suffering. The past several days had brought her to new levels of understanding concerning the meaning of the word; every manner in which she could have imagined herself being brutalized (along with a few she couldn't) had been made a harrowing reality in that short span of time. But she had managed to escape, and if she hadn't been in so much pain she might have stopped to wonder how she'd pulled it off. Had it been pure adrenaline? Fear? The deep-seated, primal will to survive that all sentient beings possessed? A combination of those things, perhaps? It didn't matter anymore. The adrenaline had worn off, and the cold hard truth had boiled over.

The pain sang louder than any choir, her wounds the grisly sheet music from which it read. She sported a grim assortment of cuts, ranging from minor nicks to several severe lacerations, a few still slowly weeping precious lifeblood; she had managed to inject her last dose of medical nanobots after making it in the air, but she knew that it was too little, too late. They would clot the wounds and begin to repair some of the damage, but she'd lost a not insignificant amount of blood, and she knew that she'd never make it to a proper Medi-Tech facility in time for a full transfusion. Besides, she'd lost her ring finger and pinky on her right hand, half of her left ear had been torn away, she had several broken bones, and she was fairly certain that at least a few of her vital organs had been irreparably damaged (the incredible pain in her gut had tipped her off to this grim possibility).

Concurrently, her mind told an even darker story: images seemed to float before her very eyes, ones that would remain seared into her minds' eye like a cattle brand for the remainder of what was certain to be a very short life. They told tales of desolation, darkness, and massive structures shot through with seemingly endless pitch-black passages...and of the things that dwelled within them. How she had run! How she had scrambled to escape, stumbling and slipping as she gasped, retched and sobbed, sometimes all at once! She had glimpsed things she had never been meant to, some of which she did not begin to understand, but what little that had been clear was itself too much to bear. She had stood upon the precipice of infinity itself, gazing into the maw of that which was wholly unknown, and had somehow managed to turn back. From her perspective, this and the fact that she would soon be dead and no longer under the thumb of her crippling physical and mental pain were her sole comforts.

She could still see their faces. Not as she'd once known them-as her colleagues and close friends-but as they were before they had been taken from her: twisted, mangled, malformed to the point of being nearly unrecognizable. Warrick, Yasmin, Alt'ch-da, Corvus, Ruhi...all of them, their bodies mangled and warped, their faces twisted into masks of unbridled horror-and terrible, terrible knowledge-before suffering their unspeakable fates, fates that Raia was certain had been impossibly worse than the one she was soon to endure. She knew that she would not have been able to help them if she'd tried, and neither could she avenge them. These terrible truths gnawed at her as a rat gnaws its way through a block of cheese, racking her with anger, crushing loss and terrible, terrible guilt.

And Warrick...oh, Warrick, not him. That loss hurt more than any severed finger ever could. Memories of his deep blue eyes, so full of wit and life, his strong and powerful arms that had once embraced her and made her feel safe, now supplanted by the unspeakable sight of his face warped into a silent scream, eyes collapsing, blood pouring from his ears, nose and eye sockets, his head grasped between a pair of twisted, batrachian hands...

The cruelty of her situation was so all-encompassing that she could only curl up and wait for life itself to end, as tears slowly trailed from her blackened eyes and down the sides of her bruised, bloody face. And so that is what she did for a brief time, after she had managed to lean forward, confirm the coordinates for the closest region of occupied space on her ship's console and the craft made the superlight jump back to the familiar. And there she drifted, alone, floating towards nothing and no one in particular. Lying on her side in the pilot seat, in a pseudo-fetal position, Raia lay unmoving until her communications module pinged. Somehow, she managed to choke out the phrase "open line." Almost immediately, an official-sounding male voice came over the corsair's intercom.

"Unidentified craft, you have entered Alliance space. Please state your name, identification serial and intended destination, over."

Raia had to think quickly, as she'd been too distracted to do so earlier. She decided, after a brief moment, what had to be done.

"Unidentified craft, please respond, over."

The mere mention of her name would raise alarms all over the quadrant, and they would come for her quickly. Even so, she knew that she'd probably be dead by the time they snared her, so she decided then and there to make it count. They needed to know about the danger that lurked out of sight.

And so, utilizing the last shred of strength that had not yet leaked from her many gashes, she sat up as straight as she could manage and responded to the disembodied inquirer-starting with her name.

***

Frank knew that this was big. Really big, as a matter of fact. The name and misdeeds of Raia Staedler were known throughout every corner of Alliance space: every settlement on every planet, from cosmopolitan mega-cities to the most remote backwater shitholes had seen the news reports and heard the rumors over the years. So ubiquitous was her saga, in fact, that even a small-town born-and-bred guy from the middle of nowhere like Frank Stigers would have been able to tell a newcomer at least half a dozen wild stories about her exploits off the top of his head.

Those stories had become the stuff of legend, for lack of a better word, and while he was sure that a few had been exaggerated to some extent by those with too much enthusiasm for storytelling, he'd been privy to enough of the official incident reports to know that quite a few of them hadn't been. She-along with her nearly as infamous crew-had lied, schemed, hijacked, robbed, murdered and blasted their way across the Allied systems-and seemingly half the rest of the universe-since roughly 2455, when she herself had been a mere nineteen years old. Together, they'd evaded the military, law enforcement, bounty hunters, and fellow criminals alike-up until today (Frank himself had been part of a few of the tracking efforts). Frank may have been somewhat of a cynic at heart, but even he had to admit: it was a hell of a tale, one that he and everyone else wouldn't forget for generations.

So maybe that was why he felt that the sight of the short, pale, slender young woman's corpse laid out unceremoniously on a stainless steel examination table was, in a way, almost anticlimactic. Personally, he'd have figured that she'd have ended up going out in a blaze of glory, cut down by a few platoons of Alliance chain gunners while stealing some precious resource magnate's vast fortune. As he glanced over the postmortem image of what was once one of the most feared figures in the galaxy, he found that he couldn't help but ponder this seeming incongruity.

"I realize that I'm stating the obvious, General," Qo'va intoned deeply from the chair to Frank's left, snapping him back into reality, "but Ms. Staedler is dead, and no longer poses a threat. What do you need from us, sir?"

General Troy Galloway of the Interplanetary Alliance's Armed Wing stood up from his cushioned desk chair, and cut the holographic projection of the now-deceased Raia Staedler's autopsy photo by tapping his thumb on the touchpad of a small remote control. After Frank and Qo'va had been called in, Galloway had simply opened by telling them to sit and carefully observe the images projected from his desk. Each had highlighted the infamous outlaw's many injuries, from the minor to the most certainly fatal.

"Obviously she's fucking dead," the General snarled, clearly irritated, "killed by a person or persons unknown. That's not why you two are currently stinking up my office, however. See, it's the conversation she had with Alliance Patrol before she was found that has myself and the rest of the Leadership wondering."

Frank beat Qo'va to the punch. "Conversation? What did she say, sir?"

"Most of it sounds like the ramblings of a madwoman." Galloway replied. "That being said, it's enough to...raise concerns." He held up the remote again, and a few quick taps later two voices filled the room, as the three men listened in silence.

* * *

"...please respond, over."

A brief pause followed the voice of whom Frank and Qo'va assumed to be an APO, or Alliance Patrol Officer. Then a new voice spoke, a woman, seemingly with great difficulty.

"My name...my name is Raia Staedler, and I got out. I got away."

There was a brief pause while the APO was clearly alerting his superiors, returning a moment later. "Ms. Staedler, you are wanted by the Interplanetary Alliance Leadership for crimes against-"

"I know!" The female voice shot back, noticeably wavering. "But I had to talk to somebody. None of them g-got out except me. It's just me now, you hear? I'm gonna die, fuck I've l-lost s-so much blood-"

"Ms. Staedler, what are you-"

"Listen! J-just listen! I...you...you can't go there! They're all gone now, and I barely got out myself. There are things there that we f-found, things we shouldn't have! They're in my fucking head, they got into my brain, they knew just how to do it, too! Just destroy my ship, cremate me, let it be forgotten..." Her voice trailed off, and she could just barely be heard making labored breaths.

"Ms. Staedler, I have locked onto the source of your transmission, and patrols will arrive shortly. We will see to your injuries, then you-"

What Frank assumed was meant to be a guffaw met the APO's statement, though it sounded more like a brief, gurgling choke.

"I'm not gonna make it, lawman. Just...just destroy everything and then leave it alone. I wouldn't be t-talking to you if it weren't important. For once, d-do the sensible thing, rrrrgh-"

"Ms. Staedler?"

"...my fucking fingers, damn, they got me good..."

"Ms. Staedler, help is on the way." The APO's voice had softened just a little, a hint of human concern creeping in. "We'll...we'll get you to the nearest station and-"

"Please...Warrick...oh, fuck, Warrick, I-I couldn't..." This was followed by what sounded like a quiet sob.

"Stay with me, Ms. Staedler. Help is coming."

"Don't track the c-coordinates, lawman, I fucking mean it. You'll want to, y-your bosses'll want to, but don't let them."

"What coordi-"

"DON'T!" She managed to holler. After this, the APO went quiet, and the call was cut.

* * *

Galloway tapped the touchpad on his remote once more. The room was silent for a moment before the General sighed quietly, drew himself to his full height of six-foot-four, and trained his stern, steely blue eyes on the man and his alien colleague currently polluting the environment of his normally impeccable office.

"What do you make of it, Stigers? Qo'va?"

Qo'va, whose spindly fingers on both sets of hands had spent the duration of the recording interlocked upon his lap, now rested them against his chin and thin lips. He was the first to speak, and his words mirrored precisely what Frank had first surmised.

"Even while knocking at death's door, for the most wanted criminal throughout the Alliance to willingly give herself up seems strange, General. It feels so very...uncharacteristic, I suppose, of an outlaw, sir."

Galloway nodded and looked at Frank. "Anything to add?"

"My friend put it perfectly, General, but I'd like to tack on something else: she was obviously trying to warn us about this...attacker she'd encountered, so for her to make direct contact with your people leads me to believe that she was involved in something exceedingly dangerous. And that's saying something, being as lethal as she and her crew are-or, were- known to be...sir." He hastily tacked on the last word of his sentence.

"My thoughts exactly. You saw the images; she wasn't just attacked, she'd been savaged. Whatever got to her, and likely her crew as well, is clearly a threat. An unknown threat, most importantly, and that has both the Leadership and the Armed Wing very, very concerned." Galloway finished this statement by taking a few steps around the side of his desk towards the seated duo. He stopped a few feet from them and stood up straight again, towering above his guests. From this perspective, they had a full view of his prowess: his immaculately pressed dark green uniform covered in commendations that had been earned across countless brutal campaigns, his lean yet clearly toned figure, his cropped, dark brown hair that was shot with steel grey, and eyes that seemed capable of boring holes in granite. With his hands clasped behind his back, he looked down upon them and spoke again.

"I want you two and your crew to investigate her pre-jump coordinates. We need to know as much as possible about who-or what-killed Raia Staedler. Also, if possible, locate the members of her crew, alive or dead; all of them are wanted criminals, and we need to know whether or not they still constitute a danger to the people of the Alliance. Know that if you choose to accept, you'll be acting as scouts only: if there is danger present, you are not to engage it in any way unless it's in self-defense. And, seeing as we're dealing with an unknown and potentially highly dangerous entity, you and your crew are to tell no one where you're headed or the objective of your trip. I want this done silently, you two. You go against me on this and I will see that you're all charged with treason and endangering Alliance security. Don't think for a second that I'm fucking around, Stigers, I'll personally ensure that all of you spend the foreseeable future in lockup. Now, that being said, does this sound like something that you can handle?"

Suppressing his alarm at the General's extreme threat, Qo'va responded.

"Sir, where exactly are the-" he started, before Galloway cut him off.

"It's a yes or no question, Qo'va. You aren't the only team I've got bookmarked, I need an answer now. Leadership wants this underway ASAP, and if it doesn't interest you, I can find someone else. You want motivation? The pay is 500,000 for each of your crew-half up front, half upon successful completion." He'd made sure to emphasize the word 'successful'.

Frank and Qo'va looked at each other, both effectively concealing their mutual surprise. This was easily three times what the Alliance would have paid out for most gigs, and that kind of money would leave them set for at least a year (if they didn't drink and gamble it away first). Though both the men strongly suspected that they'd have to earn this particular payout the hard way, it was simply too great a reward to pass up. Frank decided to break the silence.

"All right, General. We'll go and take a look around, but I have a few things that I'd like cleared up."

Galloway backed up, leaned against his desk and waved his hand in an 'ask away' motion.

"Firstly, how deep into the sticks are we going?"

"They jumped from a span of unoccupied space approximately five hundred lightyears outside of the northwestern border of Alliance territory. You're going in deep, Stigers, so pack a lunch." The General said without a trace of a smile.

Qo'va, suppressing a chuckle, asked the next question. "Why isn't the Armed Wing looking into this directly, sir? If Leadership is really this concerned, why not send in an Infiltration Unit? I don't mean to question your judgment, sir," he added, seeing the Captain's frown deepen, "but we're private contractors, and while armed, we-"

Galloway cut him off. "A few reasons. Firstly, we need to make sure that she and her crew didn't just get ambushed by other renegades. Sure, they were good-good enough to evade apprehension, but everyone's luck runs out eventually-and if it turns out that they were just scooped up, tortured, and killed by some lunatic fringe pirate crew, we'd end up wasting valuable resources that could have been put to better use elsewhere."

He paused briefly before continuing. "Secondly, Leadership has decided that they won't spare Alliance manpower just yet, not until we have a clearer picture of what happened and what we're dealing with. So I figured that a pair of consummate opportunists such as yourselves would be interested in taking a look first." With this, he beamed sarcastically, then turned and walked back behind his desk, where he sat back down in his chair and appraised his guests, seemingly waiting for more questions.

"Lastly," Frank continued, "if we get out there, wander around and there ends up being fuck-all to see because whoever did this decided not to stick around, then we'll have wasted time and fuel making the trip. I speak for my entire crew when I say that we aren't willing to stroll back home with nothing for our trouble. I want a guarantee of payment-obviously, you don't have to give us the full five hundred grand, but some form of consolation prize'll be necessary if that ends up being the case, General."

Galloway scowled and waved his hand dismissively at Frank. "If that's the case, you'll each be permitted to keep the initial 250,000. Back to the point: my staff will make the initial deposit and send you the autopsy images I've shown you, along with the medical reports and all other pertinent information so that you can fill in your crew. Now then, are we copacetic?"

Frank looked at Qo'va, who gave him a small, brief nod. Frank looked back at Galloway, smirking, and said "When do we leave, O Glorious Leader?"

"Get the fuck out of my office, Stigers, and don't let me see you again until you've got a final report ready."

The men stood in unison. "Thank you for the opportunity, General Galloway." Qo'va said, bowing his head slightly. "We will be as timely and as discreet as possible."

"You heard me, Qo'va."

***

"I'm both well aware and long acceptant of the fact that you enjoy mouthing off to authority figures, Frank," Qo'va said with a hint of a smile, "but must you do so when that much money is on the line?"

The two of them now strode down the white and grey painted corridor of the Shield Maiden Command Center at a leisurely pace, the General's office door having closed with a pneumatic hiss behind them. Now there was only the sound of their footsteps and the faint humming, thumping and rumbling of distant machinery and various ship systems. The soft glow of the ceiling lights illuminated their path back to the docking bay, where their frigate waited.

"Don't tell me you didn't read between the lines, Stretch. It was a bluff, and you know it. Leadership wouldn't blab about this to every PC crew around; you heard Galloway, they want it done quick and quiet, and we have one of the best track records in the fuckin' galaxy. It'd take more than a jab at Galloway for them to pull that offer."

"Be that as it may, this may not have been the time for it." Qo'va replied coolly. "He might have thrown us out, leaving our luck as sour as the late Ms. Staedler's."

"I wouldn't go that far. I mean, did you see her face?" Frank mumbled over the faint sound of their footsteps on the alloy floor.

"I did. And I profoundly hope that mine does not end up looking the same way, Frank."

"We'll double check the ammo reserves for the turrets when we get back," Frank said reassuringly, "and I think we should stock up on everything we need for our small arms as well while we're here. We've got a decent stockpile right now, but if we're going that far out into the boonies to spy on the local flavor, I want to be able to hit back if we're sniffed out...especially if they're capable of fucking up skilled, hardened criminals like the Staedler crew." He added the last bit in a more subdued tone.