(Dec) Prompt 2 - Three Days Left

[Naraness]

December's 2nd Prompt is the phrase “Three Days Left”



If you have any questions about how to participate in this event,
please visit the rules (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=63004) thread or PM Naraness (http://role-player.net/forum/member.php?u=24919).

Happy writing!

[m139]

My 1000 word entries for December are all connected. As I was thinking about the three themes, a certain line I had wanted to use for an earlier prompt came to mind. I decided to use it for Three Days Left (It's the first paragraph). And then, when I started my idea for Frost, I realized it could connect with this one... And then they all fell into place. What you are seeing here is a very minimally edited version- a first draft, if you will- of a complete story. Later, perhaps, I will edit them all and put them together. Happy reading!


Part one of the December Story:
Three Days Left
read part two (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=77780&p=2683977&viewfull=1#post2683977)

"Alright." he said, "I'll let you just leave. But you know, sooner or later, you're going to have to make a choice. And when that time come, well, I hope you choose wisely."

He had said that, what was it? Almost one month ago now. And I could remember it like it was yesterday. The musty smell of the old wooden structure. The dim light of the sun that somehow found itself in the room. Well, most of the room. He been leaning against the wall, in a particularly dark spot. His slouching form had been barely distinguishable in that one moment when he flicked a lighter on for his cigarette. For a second, I could see his meticulously combed graying hair, his white lab coat, his polished shoes. And then, it was gone. But even without seeing him, his presence could still be felt throughout the room. Especially in the center. There was a small trapdoor, made of metal, quite secure...

And he knew I was the only one who could open it. Ever since it was closed- almost 25 years ago now- I was always the only one who could open it. And the thought that it all depended on me- it tormented me. No one was forcing me to open it, and no one was forcing me to keep it closed. But yet, the door always hung over my head. And the man in the dark corner knew it. He knew it all too well.

I had not been here for years, now. And, when I came, I had hardly expected him to be there. I had not seen him for those twenty five years. His presence scared me. And I knew why he was there... He was there to remind me of my secret... the one only he knew of, and the one I wished I could forget...

I had lived most of my early life down under that grate. There I made my friends, grew up, and had something of a family. And then, when I was 7, I was taken by him down a passageway I did not even know existed. We climbed up a ladder. And then, we exited here. Back then, this place was actually a functioning stables. We came up in one of the horse stalls, into a cold, smelly, stinking little cube. The horse who we shared it with looked at us funny.

As I stood still crouching, staring back at the horse, he had closed the hatch with a bang. He turned to me, and spoke, "You are the only one who can open it. But not yet: it is too soon. Got to wait at least seven years." And then he gave me a sly sort of smile, and opened the stall door, and exited through it.

I stated following him. But when he opened the barn doors...

I... I could not believe what I was seeing. I ran up, and stood just outside the doors. I was under a giant dome of black, from which the stars shot forth as tiny pinpoints of light. The ground underneath my feet seemed bouncy, even more so than the dirt turf of the outside room back under the hatch. And what was that graying around the edge of the sky? I heard more sounds that I could not trace, all at the same time. Here a bird chirp, there crickets, there an owl, and there a horse whining behind me. And then, a gust of wind blew into my face. I practically stumbled back, amazed by its feel. And I stood there for... I don't know how long. I looked at, well, everything, with wonder. Suddenly, my world had become so much bigger.

And, I turned to share it with the one who brought me here. But he was gone.

I looked left. I looked right. He was not there. I walked around the stables. Still no sign of him. I went back inside, and tried the hatch. It still didn't open. And so I went outside again. And then walked around again. Nothing, nothing. Still nothing. Eventually, I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember was someone I had never seen before shaking me awake.

And, the next few days after that passed in a blur.

I remember the questions. People kept asking me where I came from. I kept saying the same thing. No one believed me. No one believed anything. No one could find out anything more about me than I knew myself. And what did I know? Only my name and where I came from. All of the names I tossed around? The descriptions? No one had heard of them, ever.

And so, after a bunch of false starts, confusion, and general uncertainty, I was adopted by the owners of the farm where I had been found. My new family consisted of a mother, a father, and a brother who was five years older than myself. And so, I lived a couple more years of my life, always in a questioning state about that hatch.

When I was fourteen, the four of us were on a road trip. I was looking out the window, when suddenly....

There was a car wreck. It was major, things caught on fire, it was all over the news. My father died upon the impact. My mother, on the way to the hospital. As for me and my brother...

I survived. The car had been hit in such a way that I was the least injured. Nevertheless, I suffered from a few broken bones, and it was a month before I was released.

My brother stayed in for a little longer. His injuries were a bit worse. In fact, after the accident, he was never able to walk again. He could barely communicate. And, a few months after I turned 19, he died. There was no signs of foul play, and it seemed completely natural, just some weird type of pneumonia. Everyone said it was bad luck. But I knew it was more than that.

You see, after the car wreck, I had started getting these messages. They were not by mail, nor by email- too traceable, probably- but by sound. I would hear things... whispers... about the BUG... it was in everyone... and all it needed was a single trigger... and it would go off... and kill them... kill the world... kill them all...

All but me. And I could stop it, it said. All I had to do was open the hatch. The hatch would unlock when I was twenty, it said. But, if I opened the hatch, everyone inside would die. And if I told anyone, they would die...

And that is why my brother died. And that is why I found myself here, at this place again.

He is not here again, thankfully. But I still know he is watching, as I kneel by this hatch. Should I open it and kill everyone I once knew? Or should I leave it closed and save a world with no one I care about left in it?

"Three days left..." the voice whispered.

Three days until the BUG would activate... I stared at the hatch, then at my hands.

I sighed, then stood up and walked back to the house. I still had three days left...

[Kris]

How long were we to rot in this place? The cold was caressing our skin as our teeth were clicking madly. We made a small fire at the entrance of the cave, not risking to step outside. Any hint of a smoke could indicate our location, but by this point it was either that or a certain frozen death.

We tried to do many things. Like covering ourselves with whatever we found in our satchels, or using the body heat methods (And just so no one complains or get the wrong idea, we were forced to change partners every day). Our food was almost gone, even after reducing the needed nutrition to survive.

Two have already left us and three more will join them soon. Every corpse was buried far away from the cave per the advice of our guide.

Curse his name. He always remains by himself, and didn't seem to be bothered by the cold. I know he eyes us every passing night, and I can't help but wonder how much of all this crazy event was his planning or doing.

But if he wanted us dead why go to so much trouble? There were plenty of knives around our small sanctuary. He could have easily kill us in our sleep, for it was our only true comfort of this terrible unbearable cold.

I saw him marking something on the opening of the cave today. I waited very long for him to leave so I could check. There were Marking there... strange marking... and each of them was crossed out aside of three. I had to fall back when he re-approached the cave, but the thoughts kept bothering me.

Three what?

Three bodies? Three survivors?

***

Let me tell you something about our guide. That's all we know of him. Guide. He never tells us his name. He hardly speaks and only does so when he is alone with our leader.

We arrived here on the notice of potential energy that we may use. Our leader has gathered the most capable men and women. Truth be told, I was not even planned to go on this mission, for I have only just enlisted, but this "Guide" has requested that my squad 12 in which I was part of, to be entered.

The protests were many for there were many other capable, better squads to go on this journey, like 4 and 8, but the Guide has insisted. As to not waste much man power, only a handful of chosens by leaders over the world have parted our world. We started 32. The running from the beings and fiends on our way and the harsh weather reduced us to 18. The sitting about in a cage of ice with no hope made us lose 6 more, 2 of them just this morning.

I am still curious about what I saw yesterday. I have the feelings our "Guide" Knows I saw the markings. He had been eyeing me all too much lately, and it's creepy. The only 3 others that get much attention are the rest of the females.

It makes me feel nauseous.

Our food supply is gone. Our leader had already suggested an idea that may makes us feel uncomfortable with. He said that we may refuse so it's better not to ask.

Many reached a point where they just nodded and accepted. I do not plan to sit idly. I will ask them first thing in the morning.

***

Dammit, why did I ask? I was probably the only one asking... or the only one to care.

I watched them gnawing, devouring, eating their fill. Our "Guide" would look at me without saying a word, but I was the only one to remain off the table.

Did they know?

Did they know what they were eating?

How low were we reduced?... It just can't be happening. I've read about it in so many tales... I heard it from people of my culture...

But not many days passed for us to sink this low...

But we still have.

On the floor, in their hands, in their mouth, were pieces of our dead companions, dug up from their graves. They used the fire to warm up the meat, made it tender. I watch them still struggle with it, for it was tough... and probably smelly.

Saliva was covering them. They behaved like wild animals. Few of them licked their lips and fingers, already eyeing their next meal, another person who was shivering in the corner, probably waiting for him to be next - so they could feed.

I couldn't take it.

I rushed outside and threw up. Fuck. Even the little food I had in me was lost....

I couldn't do it. I just couldn't.

And then I just rushed to the entrance of the cave. I made sure our "Guide" was not there and looked. Only one symbol was left unmarked. Only one symbol.

I felt a sensation of dreadness.

What did it fucking mean?

***

I woke up early and left the cave, I just couldn't bear it.

I was hungry and I had to fight the urge to reach my hand and eat whatever that was left...

Fuck me... for even desiring a small nibble...

It was noon when I heard loud screams. I rushed back - only to run away for dear life. Whoever that was close to die has died and the rest... everyone that was alive and ate the meat... has... has changed?

They looked just like those things that we came by when we reached this world. Something was changing them. Was it the weather? the cave?

Maybe the fact they eat their deads?

It has to be it because I was still myself.

I ran and ran until I hit something. I fell on the snow.

Looking up I saw our "Guide". He carefully removed his cape and I saw something that was not meant for human eyes to see. I quickly averted my gaze only to feel something sharp penetrating my back. Blood lingered from my lips, and my eyes stopped seeing for a moment, as if looking at a frozen picture in a frame.

The next thing to happen was finding myself looking at myself. I was dead.... and not.

I was wearing the same clothing our "Guide" has wore.... In fact... I was now... him? ... But I was still myself....

I clenched my fists as information... and knowledge... I had no part of or knew not of, entered my brain.

I was chosen by him... to replace him...

I passed all the trails...

It was then I realized that the marking were "days".

The message was clear... "Three days left..."

[~N~]

Took three days for him to die... (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GxXm4IlzRQ8)

They all filed out, bellies full of food and wine.

One last supper. I looked at him and he looked at me. "Three days," I said, picking the food from my teeth with a splinter I had picked up from a cross down the road. "Three days."

"Long time when you think about it," I added.

He glanced down in silence.

"I mean, that could be a good thing, I suppose. Leaves an impression and all. Maybe even lasting."

"You think it'll be enough?" he asked, his soothing voice whispering a little more than usual with uncertainty.

"Not sure, man." Pick, pick. "There are dozens of guys out back there hanging from crosses. Bit of a tradition around these parts. I mean, you've fashioned a few of them yourself. Still, a bit ironic for a carpenter to die on a cross he made. It's a nice touch, I'll give you that."

He smirked through his beard and mustache; pale blue eyes. He always had such beautiful blue eyes; like the tropical seas around Africa. I imagined coral reefs of prismatic splendor hiding in the depths of those pale blue eyes.

"Yeah, I don't know if it'll be enough."

"For your legacy? I mean, look. No matter how you die, you've done some noteworthy things. Curing the blind, raising the dead, doing your thing in the desert for forty days..."

"You helped with that."

"Right, right, but let's face it: forty days in the desert with nothing happening? People are going to make up their own stories anyway. Might as well give 'em something sensational. I just gave 'em somethin' to work with."

There was that smile again, a little wider this time. Angelic, peaceful. I truly wondered if anything ever got to this man.

"It's not pleasant, you know, right?" I remarked.

He simply nodded, as he had done thousands of times before. Unfazed.

"They nail you up there like some kind of piece of meat, letting everything get to you. You can't scratch, you can't cover up. It's a horrible way to go. People fear a knife across their throats or drowning. Those are cake compared to this. This... it's slow... it's torturous... it's painful, and literally, humiliating as your body gives out before you do."

He simply nodded. Nothing was going to change his mind.

"Still, you might be right. Might not be enough."

That got to him, but you wouldn't know it if you weren't looking for it. Just turned his head to hit me square in the eyes with that beatific gaze again.

"I mean it's so common," I said with a casual shrug, barely hiding the smile behind my own lips. I loved making him nervous; he was so difficult to rattle. "You might be forgotten among all the rest up the road..."

He sighed and bowed his head.

"But look, we can maybe do some things to make it stand out more. Most people just get racked and stuck up there for the crows to pick at. You could really set yourself apart by letting them go to work on you before you get vertical."

He clenched his jaw a bit, and then nodded softly in agreement.

"But I don't need to tell ya. It'll need to be something. Like, a real show. Something everyone can take a hand in. A real spectacle."

Still nodding as he listened.

"I know! You could drag it from here! It's a good mile up the hill there, and the crosses, they're a bitch to carry. It'll be slow. And I know a few guys on the legion who have all kinds of tension they're just dying to take out on someone nobody gives a shit about..."

He glanced at me again. "I need to make it to the top of the hill."

"Oh yeah, yeah! I'll make sure they know they can't kill ya. They'll just make it look like you're gonna die," I explained raising my hands with a reasoning frown.

"You're letting it slip how much you're enjoying this," he said in an even, quiet voice.

"Naw... I mean..." I shifted my eyes unconvincingly away. "Look, I just want you to get the ending you deserve." My god, here I was telling Him that with a straight face. I really deserve more credit than I get for my special set of skills.

Clasping my hands together and interlacing my fingers on the table, I managed to hold myself together so I could look him in the face again. I was dying on the inside. From laughter.

"So you think that'll do it?" he asked after a pause so long and awkward, it would've made a dog uncomfortable.

"Well, there are no guarantees," I said with another casual shrug, turning up the pitch in my voice, "But it's sure to leave an impression!"

"I need it to stick," he reminded me. God I loved it when he grit his teeth.

"Yes, I know. 'This is the rock upon which I'll build my church,' yada yada yada and all that jazz, I get it, sweetheart."

He shot me a glare that could've killed civilization. I was dying. I couldn't help myself. I had to make the most of this. It might be centuries before I get another opportunity like this one. Hell, it might never happen again. You have to make these moments count.

"It'll probably stick..." I assured him with that extra touch of uncertainty.

He sighed and bowed his head. The man could walk on water, but he couldn't ensure the future. What a shame.

"Well, there's one more thing I could do, after..." he paused and shifted his eyes in my direction. I narrowed mine in response. What have you got up those long sleeves, Messiah?

He quickly went silent, muttering, "Three days left..."

"Three? Honey, we can get you up on that hill tomorrow! Why wait?"

Then his pale blue eyes turned to steel as he shot one more look at me.

"Let's do it then."

[Kicks]

I close my eyes and I can still remember the day. I close my eyes and I can feel the wind of that day brushing against my skin. I close my eyes and I can see him standing there, grabbing one of my arms with a tight, controlling grasp. It becomes hard not to open my eyes, to break the illusion... the memory.

Such a silly girl. I should have seen it coming. As time went on he continued to get more and more possessive. He continued to get more and more controlling. I still remember when all he was was just a shy and awkward man. I still remember that silly smile he gave me when I said something even sillier.

It was so easy to fall in love with the wrong person.

But he really did start off sweet. I can attest, and I can proclaim that. I do not think there was a thing in the world that he could ever harm. But time went on, and as it did he got more controlling, more possessive... more angry.

Why do we stay in relationships that only hurt us?

They could blame it on the hormones running high during high school, but I knew the truth behind it. He was some kind of control freak. He needed to have absolute control over everything, including another human being. He wanted things he could not have, things that I refused to give him.

I am a Christian girl with high standards. I am a Christian girl with strong morals I will not easily lay down. Nobody can make me sacrifice what I believe. But he thought he could change that, even though he said we came from the same line of worship. He insisted he too was Christian... but the things he did... how he treated me... He was no man of God.

I should have seen it coming when he started trying to force me down. Force me to kiss him or force me to even look at him. Grabbing my tiny face was never the way to get me to look at someone. It only infuriated me. To handle me as if I am some possession was the quickest way to infuriate me.

I should have seen it coming when he went to his friends- my friends- and talked about as if I were some incoherent Barbie doll. I was this super girlfriend. A model, a straight A-student, the president of a choir, debate trophy holder. I was some kind of trophy he loved to sport. And I hated to be.

I learned to hate myself slowly through the relationship. I learned to think that maybe it was my fault. Maybe I was not supportive enough. Maybe it was just me.

He told his friends that I was uncooperative. He said that I caused so much trouble for him, that I refused to bend to what he wanted. That there was something wrong with me! Because it was like having morals was a bad thing! It was almost like if you had a brain to think then-

But I am getting emotional.

He told his friends many things. He talked about how awful I was because I did not do what he wanted. He told his friends that he was a teenager and he just wanted to have fun! He wanted to be reckless! One of his friends said: "if she were my girlfriend, I would slap her ass".

As if that did not sting deep enough, he told my best friend about how awful I was.

I had never felt so violated before than when I was in that relationship. But the worse was still yet to come.

I got a job. He offered me a ride to my job and of course I said yes. But I had my reservations. He had become a monster by then. After I said no to his offer he insisted and argued that I just did not want to spend time with him. So I said yes. He took me to the park and at first I thought we were just going to have a nice walk around the place...

Until he grabbed my arm and forcibly dragged me to the wooded part of the park. I guess he thought I was too weak to fight him off. He had a surprise coming for him. I don't want to go into the details. I never do. So I'm going to skip to kicking his fucking ass.

I have always been a fighter, always been in Martial Arts. At that time I was currently in training with Kick Boxing. Now, even though I had plenty of experience using Martial Arts to protect myself... That did not come to mind during that time.

Instead of forcing him off of me with that kind of technique, I pulled a fork out of my jacket and I stabbed him in the stomach before he could... commit a violating crime as if attempting it wasn't already a crime. But when you are so hyped up on adrenaline like that, and your life is in danger, you are in danger... You do not stop there. I kicked him. I do not know how many times. I just know that I stabbed him with a fork so hard I drew blood. And I kicked him many times until he stopped.

And then... He got up. And I slammed my hand into his chest. And I began to yell at him. I started cussing. Everything came out of my mouth, spewing like cuss vomit. I must have screamed my vocal cords raw! And so he began to apologize. But I was not going to have any of that. I took my bent fork with me and stormed towards the public area. He followed after, apologizing and whatnot.

"I love you! But I don't even know if you love me back!" Is what he screamed at me when I reached the sidewalk.

I didn't know my way around the town. But that did not stop me from continuing far, far away from the park.

"But I think you want this to work because you had a chance back there to go left or right to get to Brenda's or Kathy's and you didn't!" He then screamed.

"THAT'S BECAUSE I DIDN'T FUCKING KNOW THAT." I hollered for the whole town to hear. By then I had stopped and spun on my heel. I can't remember what I screamed after that. But somehow it got to this point: "FUCKING HILARIOUS, ISN'T IT?! YOU CLAIM TO BE A FUCKING CHRISTIAN AND YOU TRY TO PULL A STUNT LIKE THAT?! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU KIDDING? DO YOU THINK JESUS IS HAPPY WITH YOU? FUCK YOU. FUCK YOUUUU!"

A year of frustration built up had come spewing out.

Three days later...

I grabbed a phone. My friend had just texted me about him. She said he was cheating on me. He had always been cheating on me.

So I called him. And I screamed. And I cried. And he started sobbing. And I did not give a single fuck. At some point he said "SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME, BITCH". And I told him how I was not going to allow him to speak to me like that. That it was over. That it was done.

The next day...

He found me at school. He was trying to apologize. He tried to turn my friends against me. And at the end of the day he found me and stalked me. And I turned around at one point and he said: "I just want to be friends" "WELL THAT'S NOT WHAT I FUCKING WANT. GO FUCK YOURSELF."

When I get really upset I cuss... a lot... Sounds pretty ironic... but... yea....

To be honest, I thought I was going to have to file a restraining order against him. Thank God the summer came quickly. He was kicked out of his parent's house. He was forced to live somewhere else. I had to block him on social media platforms. I had to change my number. I cut my hair, dyed it, and changed my appearance until I knew I was safe. I had to be safe. It took six months before I became safe, before he was forced out of the state. I was finally able to go back to just... being me.

But during that time I came to realize the true beauty of myself. I was not one to just lay down and take it. I was a fierce fighter. And that the strongest of us come in tiny packages.

Sometimes I still think it was me. I know it's silly. And I have talked it through with an abuse counselor. But... sometimes, you just doubt yourself and have to wonder. And then other times I want to scream and punch a wall because there are things such as boundaries. And those who do not respect them can go fuck themselves.

And then... I am certain, of one thing. Nobody deserves that kind of mistreatment. They do not deserve to be treated like a possession. They should not be seen as some kind of trophy to flaunt around with. They should be treated with respect. Their boundaries should be respected. They should be loved... not abused.

[dakkagor]

"This is Lieutenant Henri Seldon, broadcasting on all channels. My ship is disabled and drifting. I have three days of air, food and water left. S-O-S. I have activated the emergency beacon and done my best to correct my tumble and try. . .try to find a stable orbit, but navigation is shot and I don't know how successful I was. God. Please, don't let me die out here. I repeat. . . ."

The ship was a small, single person fighter. Ceramic-titanium composite hull, fusion plant. Swept, wide wings so it could operate in an atmosphere or space. The damage was easy to observe from the outside: three fist sized holes along the fuselage that had wrecked delicate internal systems, torn clear fuel lines and smashed battle computers. The rest of the hull was scarred with carbon, nicked and dented with shrapnel, and slightly radioactive from a near miss with a fifty kiloton armour piercing ship killer. The barrels of heavy cannon lay flush to the hull, and unfired missiles where tucked under the wings. A serial number was stencilled on its white, flash resistant hull in blocky black numbers, with the name of its pilot underneath. Its nose cone was decorated more liberally, flames licking up from the sharp tip of the fighters nose spreading along its body like it was plunging into hell.

"This is Lieutenant Henri Seldon, broadcasting on all channels. My ship is disabled and drifting. I have three days of air, food and water left. S-O-S. I have activated the emergency beacon and done my best to correct my tumble and try. . .try to find a stable orbit, but navigation is shot and I don't know how successful I was. God. Please, don't let me die out here. I repeat. . . ."

Trailing behind it like broken insect wings was an emergency deployment solar sail. The delicate, electro-sensitive materials where ripped and torn from micro-meteorite impact and battle damage. Slowly, lazily, elegantly, the small fighter tumbled in the black depths of space, distant starlight reflecting from torn metal and advanced plastics alike.

A bright, piercing light suddenly washed over the fighter, sweeping from its cold engines to its tapered nose. The light played over the stencilled serial number, over the silent weapons, and over the cockpit. The pilots space suit, similarly white with a black visor, was clearly visible, his serial number repeated on the left side of his chest with his name and rank.

"This is Lieutenant Henri Seldon, broadcasting on all channels. My ship is disabled and drifting. I have three days of air, food and water left. S-O-S. I have activated the emergency beacon and done my best to correct my tumble and try. . .try to find a stable orbit, but navigation is shot and I don't know how successful I was. God. Please, don't let me die out here. I repeat. . . ."

A figure crossed the beam of light, briefly throwing an alien shadow over the ship. The figure landed on the hull, a roughly spherical body with nine appendages, clad in a simple space suit. Eye stalks looked over the cockpit as the creature tapped on the glass. Receiving no response, it rolled along the hull and attached grapples to the rear of the fighter, and signalled its own ship to pull the fighter into its salvage bay.

++++++

“Crap on a Crutch Steve! When I heard us dropping out of hyperspace I thought it would be important! What is this crap?!”

The alien looked up from the cockpit of the fighter and looked towards its only crew mate, one Hannah Montoya. It burbled in response to the angry outburst and flashed a rapid series of colours, blue, white, orange and gold crossing its photo receptive surface.

“I can see its radioactive, you idiot! That's why I'm wearing my rad suit!” She thumped her chest to demonstrate that yes, she was wearing the unflattering, bulky, protective engineering suit. She started to stomp down the ramp towards the fighter.

"This is Lieutenant Henri Seldon, broadcasting on all channels. My ship is disabled and drifting. I have three days of air, food and water left. S-O-S. I have activated the emergency beacon and done my best to correct my tumble and try. . .try to find a stable orbit, but navigation is shot and I don't know how successful I was. God. Please, don't let me die out here. I repeat. . . ."

Steve burbled again, and flashed a more urgent series of colours.

“Goddamnit Steve, there is no way the pilot is alive in that thing! We are hundreds of lights away from the nearest inhabited system, and that's a Systems Alliance T-80 Hellcat. They haven't flown those in over fifty years!”

As she closed on the fighter, she slowed. The Geiger counter in her suit was still registering some harmful radiation, but not nearly as much as she had feared. Florians, with their plant based biology, where much more resistant to hard rads anyway. It was why they had so liberally used nukes during The War. But that hadn't been what had slowed Hannahs steps.

“That's a surprisingly intact T-80, mind you.” She licked her lips. “Could be valuable.”

She walked up the fighter, and ran a hand along the cracked, peeling, blast resistant paint. The hull was in good condition. It was worthless as scrap. But there was the problem of the current owner. . .

“Here, let me help you open that thing off and kill the beacon.” She climbed up onto the wing, next to the cockpit, and pulled out a engineering scanner. She quickly run it over the seam between the steelglass canopy and the hull.

“There, magnetic lock. I'll get this side, you get the other.”

Steve flashed orange and green in response, and rolled over to the other side of the canopy.

“On three. One, Two, Three. . .”

The cockpit hissed, and stale air rushed into the hold.

“Glad I can't smell that.” Hannah leaned into the cockpit and gently pushed the pilot out of the way.

"This is Lieutenant Henri Seldon, broadcasting on all channels. My ship is disabled and drifting. I have three days of air, food and water left. S-O-S. I have activated the emergency beacon and done my best to correct my tumble and try. . .try to find a stable orbit, but navigation is shot and I don't know how successful I was. God. Please, don't let me die out here. I repeat. . . ."

She found the switch and threw it. The signal died. She turned and started to fiddle with the pilots helmet. Steve burbled in alarm.

“No, I'm not going to open him up. Just want to de-polarize the visor and Jesus fucking Christ!”

A skull, browned with decay, was leaning up against the inside of the helmet, and Hannah recoiled instinctively. Steve rolled over to Hannah and placed a pair of tentacles on her shoulder.

“No, I'm fine. Just scared me.” She turned to Steve. “See if you can't recover the black box. I've got some friends who might know if a vintage Hellcat fighter is valuable.”

She scrambled down the hull and started to jog towards the Bridge. “And once you're done, we need to get under way! This ore isn't going to haul itself, Captain!”

Steve burbled in agreement and watched Hannah go. For a long moment, the alien simply stared at the skull leering out of the helmet. Fifty years ago, their two species had been locked in a struggle to the death. Steve ran a tentacle over the hull, remembering with the perfect clarity of his species that last battle, before the diplomats had finally broken the language barrier and gotten both sides talking. And here he was hauling freight with someone who fifty years ago would have tried to bayonet him. As Hannah was fond of saying, it was a funny old galaxy.

He burbled a final goodbye to Lieutenant Henri Seldon, pulled the flight recorder clear, and closed the hatch.

"This is Lieutenant Henri Seldon, broadcasting on all channels. My ship is disabled and drifting. I have three days of air, food and water left. S-O-S. I have activated the emergency beacon and done my best to correct my tumble and try. . .try to find a stable orbit, but navigation is shot and I don't know how successful I was. God. Please, don't let me die out here. I repeat. . . ."