Distress

The Prowler drops out of hyperspace a couple hours later. Much to the relief of the entire crew the viewscreen, once fired back into life following the exit from hyperspace during which it cannot be kept in use, shows the hull of a bulky transport vessel.

The Prowler, at the orders of Captain Jimenez, makes a single pass to determine if this inert looking hull is in fact the Namora. A third of the way down one side of its hull they find the letters emblazoned in large white letters, pockmarked by small impacts that have distorted what would have originally been perfectly uniform lettering. Another demand made by Command for all registered ships irrespective of system, planet, class or age to adhere to.

With the Prowler back in a static orbit alongside the Namora, having completed a lap of the ship, Iain comments, “Looks like she’s in passable shape, I’d say.”

His voice is even and sure as he speaks. It’s the sort of tone that only a man with more than a decade’s worth of experience as a member of the security division of Command could possess. Not that such a thing makes a difference to Hector who queries, “How can you say that she looks battered to all hell?”

And he is right. Apart from the pockmarked letters that form the name Namora, the hull of the long blocky transport vessel is battered. Its plating peppered with thousands of tiny dents and dings as well as a few larger ones that have scuffed and scorched the heat resistant metal that form the skin of the ship.

Yet, Iain is not the one that answers. Instead, Francesca offers her own two cents by assuring Hector that, “All transport vessels look like that. Comes with the territory of doing endless back and forth runs with little downtime between. Save for the loading of the cargo into the hold that is.”

“In laymen’s terms their purpose is haulage not looking pretty.” Ville says giving his own much shorter explanation.

His head never turned as he spat the words out into the air around him. The pilot too busy making sure that the distance between them and the Namora is maintained to have any interesting in diverting his focus away from the console before him for even a second. He could, he knows it, and so does everyone else. But they’re all used to Ville. It’s just how he is. He’s a private man.

Before the conversation can go any further Linda interjects, cutting through the chatter to order, “Tasha, try comms.”

The response is immediate from the navigator who opens a communications link to the Namora only to be met by the long consistent fizzle of endless static.

Linda ignores its presence and announces anyway, “Namora, this is the recovery vessel Prowler. We are here to offer assistance. Please reply.”

No response is forthcoming and the longer they wait in hopes of being met with a reply the more obvious it becomes that one will never come. Still, the static fills the air. The crew are used to its presence now and that is why it is more than two minutes before any one says a thing. And when they do it’s the security chief, Iain Francis who speaks.

“Their comms could be trashed.” Is the frank statement he utters along with a simple shrug of his wide shoulders in the seconds before Hector questions, “By what?”

“Could be by anything, but most probable is that they were hit by space debris mid-jump. Odds are low but it’s still possible, if you’re unlucky.” Ville explains rather uncharacteristically descriptive for him.

He usually doesn’t say that much, especially all in one go. Linda hasn’t a clue why he felt the need to share but is pleased he did. She sometimes wonders whether her pilot is sinking too far into his own shell. Particularly during the longer tours, which seem to have become more prevalent in the last couple years.

“Wouldn’t we expect to see some obvious damage if that was the case though?” Francesca adds, sceptical of the idea that the static filled frequency is the result of an impact. After all, they did an entire lap of the Namora and as far as she could tell, though she is no engineer, there was no external damage that would suggest such a thing.

“A smaller impact could have caused a systems failure, or it might just be shoddy maintenance. Transport ships aren’t known for their adherence to regular check protocols unlike vessels like ours.” Tasha suggests from behind her own array of brightly coloured digital panels.

Linda is inclined to agree with Tasha. It seems the most likely possibility but settles on not taking sides. The members of her crew are simply spit-balling ideas and siding with one over the other could cause unnecessary friction. That is why she instead orders, “Ville, take us in and get us docked.”

“Aye, aye Captain.” Is the swift response from Ville as his fingers begin to dance over the console keys before him. His hands move faster than Linda guarantees she would be able to manage if she were in his place.

“Iain, Francesca, Hector. I want the three of you suited up and ready to board as soon as we’re linked, got it?” Linda then demands a couple seconds later.

First she looks to her left where Iain and Francesca are stood behind their consoles, only to be forced to shift her gaze right so that she can look at Hector as she finishes giving her order. He’s on the same side as Tasha and her console but isn’t near her. Instead, he is closer to Linda.

Her glances are met with nods from each of them in the moments before they then depart without a single further word being exchanged. There is no need. The three of them know why they are being sent as the boarding party.

Ville align the Prowler so that it’s parallel with the Namora. Linda watches, her attention now on the viewscreen once more, as her ship runs alongside the larger transport vessel until it they reach the necessary attachment point that will permit the two ships to dock with one another. Even if Linda did not have the viewscreen accessible to her she would be able to feel the movement of the Prowler though. Some find it unsteady or sickening, like the rolling of a boat on the waves, but Linda considers the motion soothing. Still, the calmness which she feels does nothing to prevent her from asking, “Tasha, open and monitor all frequencies just encase.”

Linda doesn’t expect they’ll get anything over them. Especially, as many of them predate most of the tech that will likely be packed into the hull of the Namora, but she isn’t about to take that risk. They have to be prepared for anything. After all, they are a recovery vessel and while Command would prefer they recover crew, ship and cargo there is the possibility that some tragedy has occurred which means perhaps only a subset of that list is achievable. The odds that none of it is retrievable seem slim. At least it does now that they know that the Namora is without a doubt still intact.