Hard Luck Hermit

“Alright, fires are out, so this officially isn’t fun to look at any more,” Tooley said. While Tooley had calculated their next course, the wreckage of the vessel Farsus had destroyed through clever mathematics had burned out and was now drifting idly through space. “Back on track to whatever-it’s-called station?”

“Not yet,” Kamak said.

“‘Not yet’? You want to stick around and take the chance this guy’s friends show up?”

“If he had friends they’d be here by now,” Kamak said. “Farsus. Up for a spacewalk?”

“It’s been some time, but yes,” Farsus said. “I assume you mean to salvage the flight computer?”

“Yeah. Give us an idea of who this joker was, where he came from,” Kamak said. Farsus nodded and went to fetch his space suit while Tooley kept up her usual stream of complaints.

“Aren’t we currently in the process of tracking down an entirely different joker?”

“Lot of jokers in the universe, we can track more than one at a time,” Kamak said. “Especially if this joker gives us a lead a little closer to home.”

The Sturit they were currently looking for was likely just an accessory to the larger hunt, but there was the chance, however slim, that this fighter had a more direct link to the central culprit. Depending on how intact their flight computer was, and how poorly they covered their tracks, this broken ship might give them a much better lead.

The fantasy of a quick resolution to their problems would have to wait until Farsus got his space suit on, at least. The dusty suit had been shoved in a locker for quite some time, and he, quite understandably, wanted to make sure it was still airtight. Once he’d double-checked the suit and squeezed his ample frame into it, Farsus began the long waddle towards the cargo bay, with Kamak following along to help him out of the ship.

“Hey, Farsus, before you go,” Kamak said. “I’m not expecting trouble, but with the way things have been going lately-”

“In the event of another attack, I will likely be abandoned,” Farsus said. “I understand.”

“Can I get that understanding in writing, because I feel like Doprel’s going to bitch at me anyway,” Kamak said.

“And you’ll deserve it,” Farsus said, before stepping backwards into the airlock and ejecting himself into space. Kamak shook his head and headed for the cockpit.

“Hell of a way to get the last word,” he mumbled to himself. Kamak just hoped they wouldn’t be Farsus’ actual last words.

Back in the cockpit, the rest of the crew watched with bated breath as Farsus drifted into view and started to pick through the crumbling wreckage of the starfighter. The wrecked ship, and the way Farsus idly drifted through it, was a very tense reminder of what could have happened to them, had that starfighter been a better shot.

“Hey Corvash, you keep a knife on you, right?”

“Most times, yeah,” Corey said. Keeping himself armed had likely saved his life in the fight against Wagam, so he saw no reason to break the habit.

“If we ever get spaced, be sure to like, stab me or something,” Tooley said. “I’d rather just get it over with.”

“Uh. If I can. I guess.”

The mass contemplation of their own mortality only got worse as Farsus began to work on the broken cockpit of the starfighter. He unlatched the thin plastic dome and unbuckled the dead pilot within. The body was burned past the point of recognizability, and Corey didn’t know whether he was hoping or dreading that the fire might have killed them before the asphyxiation did.

“If we’re at the point of mercy killing, please do me first,” Doprel said. “I can survive without oxygen a lot longer than you guys. Way more time to suffer.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll kill you, don’t worry about it. And then Tooley, because god knows I’ve been waiting to,” Kamak said.

“Not if I put you down first.”

“No need to make a fucking contest out of it. We can shoot each other at the same time, and Corey can mop up whoever’s left.”

“Why do I have to be the cleanup crew in this morbid fantasy?”

“Well usually it’d be Farsus’ job, but he’s not around to participate in this particular coping mechanism,” Kamak said. “Speaking of Farsus.”

Kamak leaned forward and put his hand down on a comms button.

“Farsus? Any luck?”

“The vessel’s computer appears to be intact, now it is merely a matter of removing it,” Farsus said. He had a very limited selection of tools with him on this space walk, so it could be a long process to remove the computer from the rest of the ship.

“Good to hear. Also, you, uh, you got a former pilot headed your way,” Kamak warned. The corpse of the pilot had drifted back towards the cockpit, pulled by some shift of microgravity currents. Kamak was glad he didn’t believe in ghosts, or that might have spooked him. Farsus, who was also skeptical of afterlives, looked over his shoulder and simply kicked the corpse away, sending it on an inevitable collision course with the nearby sun.

“This is starting to feel fucked up,” Corey said.

“Ah, he would’ve done the same to us,” Tooley said.

To Farsus, a corpse was merely a corpse, so he wasted no time on contemplation of morality and focused on removing the computer. The complex machinery of the fighter’s cockpit yielded to his skill eventually, and Farsus deftly removed the ship’s computer, tucked it under the bulky arm of his space suit, and began to drift back in the direction of the Hermit.

“You got the thing?” Kamak asked over the comms.

“I do possess the thing,” Farsus answered.

“Great, Tooley, get the ship going, we’ve overstayed our welcome already,” Kamak said. “And Farsus, hate to overwork you, but I want that thing cracked ASAP.”

“I will endeavor to do so, but I need not warn you that encryption can be a time-consuming obstacle.”

“I know, I know,” Kamak said. “But Doprel’s looking sad, so let’s just find out what kind of animal we just put down so he can stop feeling bad.”

As it turned out, there was no animal. Nor was there any encryption. The computer record aboard was purely civilian, detailing the almost mundane life of a military contractor from a far-flung region of space. There were months of logs detailing routine sorties, boring patrols -and then a disastrous, destructive mission through the Caro galaxy. The room got real quiet when that phrase came up. Corey knew he’d regret asking, but he had to.

“What’s the Caro galaxy?”

“That’s where I’m from,” Doprel said flatly. “Where all Doccan are from.”

In an attempt to avoid lingering on the subject, Farsus scrolled through some of the remaining logs, mostly dealing with the fallout of the failed mission, tallying the destruction, and planning memorials for fallen friends. The grief took a hard turn into vengeance with a single message from an unknown sender, promising details on a “Doccan infiltrator” running amok in Council space. Try as he might, Farsus could not extract any further information about who had sent the messages, but they contained disturbingly specific details about the Hermit, and about Doprel specifically.

“We’ve seen enough, Farsus,” Kamak said, much too late to be of any help. Doprel was already sulking in the back of the room. The hulking alien ignored any expressions of concern leveled his way and lumbered off to his chambers to mope in peace.

“So this guy was just some random mercenary with a grudge against Doccan’s?”

“Something like that,” Kamak said. Corey didn’t like the sound of that, and the memory of the charred corpse drifting through space started to turn his stomach even more. That hadn’t been some psychopath or career criminal. Just a regular guy working a job not so different from theirs.

“The Doccan are a species of logic,” Farsus said. “And sometimes it is ‘logical’ to take what you need from others by force. That does not endear them to anyone who ships goods through the Caro galaxy.”

“And this particular guy decided to take his grudge out on Doprel for no reason,” Tooley snorted. She was not quite so perturbed by the situation as the rest of her crewmates.

“He had a reason.”

“Okay, let me clarify: he had a shitty reason,” Tooley said. “He gets one fucking email and goes in guns blazing?”

“Doprel is an extreme outlier for his species,” Farsus said. He had emotions, which already set him lightyears apart.

“So what? A Gentanian stabbed me a few swaps ago, I don’t want to kill every other Gentanian in the galaxy on principle,” Tooley said. “I do want to kill Kamak, but that’s for personal reasons, not some stupid bias.”

“The bitch has a point, somewhere underneath all that stupidity,” Kamak said. “He started the fight. He’s the only person responsible for what happened to him.”

“No,” Farsus said. “The one who sent him those lies is equally responsible.”

“Good point. On that note, Tools, get us a heading and get us back on track. The dead guy’s a dead end, so let’s follow our lead on that Sturit and hope it isn’t just Tooley’s ex-husband.”

“Her what?”

“We’re not talking about this,” Tooley hissed, as she put in their heading and put them into FTL.