By David C. Daoust
The massive Behemoth Class Heavy Freighter made moon-fall but moments before. The mismatched collection of armored replacement plates and panels that made up the ship’s hull, glowed red… Crusted rivets began to cool as the temperature of the lower atmosphere forced steam to trail back to the aft of the ship. Pocked and marked with character, the hull showed the wear of its years spent flying from one end of the Solar System to the other. The ships frame quaked and bulked as the old freighter was forced to contend with the gravity of the small moon, Twin Crown.
A Heavy Freighter known affectionately as the ‘Dirty Damsel’ by its ogrish Captain, Armin Cook, and the large crew within.
The Strong Arm of the Organization– known by friends and confidants as simply ‘Dutch’ and as the Underboss to none other than Bernard Vice. His presence filled the bridge as his heavy boots took two quick steps back to a comm system…
Dutch was rough and he was gruff, and his voice was equally so as he ordered a small wing of thugs to be ready to disembark…
The ‘Dirty Damsel’ flew in fast as it lowered to skim over the sand covered wasteland, its massive shadow raced up and down dunes as it rocketed towards the light freighter— the Spectre.
The problem— it was clear from the scans they took from orbit, that the small half-buried ship was stripped of all its cargo… Dutch’s concern was not only for the cargo, however, as the captain of said ship was unaccounted for as well.
Yet before their very eyes, what looked like an old-style rover had pulled to a halt and a pair of Battle Drones, the very cargo that was meant to be within the Spectre’s hold, had launched toward the abandoned ship.
Scavengers– Dutch had little doubt.
And very little patience for taking losses.
The wing of starfighters launched from the Dirty Damsel’s hold as the behemoth’s shadow blotted out the lands below, dwarfing Rover, light-freighter, even the dunes themselves– The Dirty Damsel now hovered directly above all.
The fighters flew in fast- sending a barrage of thundering projectiles in a sudden wall of weapons fire between the approaching Drones and the Spectre.
The drones arced wide in separate directions… scurried back to their holes like the rats they were.
Dutch was not about to destroy their own merchandise… The wing of fighters circled.
“Hail the rover,” Dutch commanded, hands clasped behind his back as he viewed the scene below on the central view screen.
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