metal over a period of many days, losing a heavy cruiser to a direct engine-room hit and explosion in the process. Then they’d boarded with their own marines, expecting a fierce hand-to-hand battle. However, everyone was already dead by their own hand, choosing a painless death over a hopeless battle against an enemy who didn’t believe in taking prisoners. No one actually believed this, of course—the Imperials had made the same claim the last time they’d taken the Station. But it was the only version of the story we had so far, and everything we could see from space backed it up. An unusually high percentage of the orbital debris was ferrous, and the largest chunks were obviously pieces of what appeared to be a cruiser-sized warship; indeed, an intact turret assembly made a near pass every six hours and sixteen minutes. The Station’s heavy guns were oriented every which-way, wherever they’d been pointed at the moment they’d been knocked out. Zombie’s fortress wasn’t generating even a trickle of power, though Chief Engineer Lancrest’s first job would be to get it limping along at least well enough to generate light and gravity and a basic level of environmental services. We’d be working aboard the Station for weeks, and we’d finish twice as fast if we didn’t have to spend the whole time suited up.
Once we had our photos and such, and long before anyone so much as boarded the Station proper, our work began. The first thing we did was broadcast a ‘recovery blip’, a coded signal that any even halfway-functional combat suit would reply to. In seconds we learned that there were almost a hundred dead Royal servicemen floating in nearby space, and with another signal that the Imperials released to us after the Armistice was signed we learned that there were another three hundred enemy dead, most of these presumably from the exploded cruiser. (The Imperials didn’t care much about their fallen warriors so long as they didn’t end up someplace where the odor was a concern; our concern for mere dead bones was considered effete. They were perfectly willing to let us collect their dead for them so long as it didn’t cost them anything, however, and for our part we treated their men as honorably as our own.) It was fortunate that most still had functional jetpacks; when Lieutenant Jeffries and I ordered the suits to home in on Beechwood the majority responded instantly. It still wasn’t safe outside the hull, so we just sort of piled them up at the base of the Sweeper, where the magnetic fields would hold them in place. Four of them exploded during the trip, as improperly secured grenades or damaged blast-rifle magazines or who knew what were set off by the application of vector. It was sad, but better that it happened at a distance rather than up-close and personal. We’d bring the rest in one by one inside armored capsules for the Rabbits to process and deep-freeze as time allowed; it wasn’t like the vacuum could damage them any further.
When space finally cleared out a little we were able to go EVA ourselves. I assigned Devin’s squad the always-dicey task of running down the rest of the floating dead, plus the dozens upon dozens of major body parts. It was among the most dangerous work of all, combining all the perils of working and maneuvering in vacuum with the risks of dealing with damaged ordnance. But someone had to do it, and Devin and his bunnies seemed honored to have been chosen. Given the magnitude of the task I allotted him all but two of our one-man power-sleds and all but three of the pressurized longer-ranged units. Even granted the lion’s share of the equipment and assuming every one of his Rabbits put in sixteen-hour days, I still expected Devin to be the last of us to finish. I also expected at least one of his ten Rabbits to die as well, based on past statistics. They had to know, but still they were grateful for my trust.
Zombie Station had carried seven hundred and
Once we had our photos and such, and long before anyone so much as boarded the Station proper, our work began. The first thing we did was broadcast a ‘recovery blip’, a coded signal that any even halfway-functional combat suit would reply to. In seconds we learned that there were almost a hundred dead Royal servicemen floating in nearby space, and with another signal that the Imperials released to us after the Armistice was signed we learned that there were another three hundred enemy dead, most of these presumably from the exploded cruiser. (The Imperials didn’t care much about their fallen warriors so long as they didn’t end up someplace where the odor was a concern; our concern for mere dead bones was considered effete. They were perfectly willing to let us collect their dead for them so long as it didn’t cost them anything, however, and for our part we treated their men as honorably as our own.) It was fortunate that most still had functional jetpacks; when Lieutenant Jeffries and I ordered the suits to home in on Beechwood the majority responded instantly. It still wasn’t safe outside the hull, so we just sort of piled them up at the base of the Sweeper, where the magnetic fields would hold them in place. Four of them exploded during the trip, as improperly secured grenades or damaged blast-rifle magazines or who knew what were set off by the application of vector. It was sad, but better that it happened at a distance rather than up-close and personal. We’d bring the rest in one by one inside armored capsules for the Rabbits to process and deep-freeze as time allowed; it wasn’t like the vacuum could damage them any further.
When space finally cleared out a little we were able to go EVA ourselves. I assigned Devin’s squad the always-dicey task of running down the rest of the floating dead, plus the dozens upon dozens of major body parts. It was among the most dangerous work of all, combining all the perils of working and maneuvering in vacuum with the risks of dealing with damaged ordnance. But someone had to do it, and Devin and his bunnies seemed honored to have been chosen. Given the magnitude of the task I allotted him all but two of our one-man power-sleds and all but three of the pressurized longer-ranged units. Even granted the lion’s share of the equipment and assuming every one of his Rabbits put in sixteen-hour days, I still expected Devin to be the last of us to finish. I also expected at least one of his ten Rabbits to die as well, based on past statistics. They had to know, but still they were grateful for my trust.
Zombie Station had carried seven hundred and
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