Ballad of a Space Pirate
Part one
The Rig was pitted by rust and by the near constant sand storms, scouring and eroding the paint and metal. It rolled slowly on six wheels, each ten meters tall, over the shifting dunes. An assortment of cranes and arms covered its back, stowed away under tarps and covers to protect them from the sand. Inside the cab, with the windows all but useless, a crew of four looked pensively at screens and readouts. Navigating by maps and instruments alone.
"Still have that reading?" asked the Rig boss, an impressively tall and muscled monitor lizard named Krig. His seat was against the back wall, slightly raised to look over the other three stations.
"Still reading due east, but getting stronger," Said Erida, radar, magnetometer and general electronics expert. "We have to be close." She was a white rabbit, not like the local wasteland hares, but an off worlder, with her long ears flopped down her back. Her station was ahead and to Krig's right.
"Nothing on the map, no records of any settlements or plotted wrecks out this far." Said Paul, a diminutive bespectacled pocket mouse seated on the left side of the cab, poring over screens and printed maps. "If it's a wreck, it must have crashed recently."
"Nice, new wrecks have the best stuff," Piped the Rig's driver, a sand cat named Cid. He sat at the front, in a jutting cockpit with windows affording a panoramic view of the horizon and ground directly below and forward of the rig. Not that he could see much of anything in the blowing sand.
"There," Erida called out, "Two-hundred meters dead ahead, it's... I don't know what it is, too dense for the usual cargo ships. I'd say military but they aren't the type to leave things lying around."
"Guess we'll find out." said Krig, "Cid get us close, as you can, I don't want to walk far in this storm."
Erida made sure her respirator was on tight and her filters clear. Wither always had dust hanging in the air but a sand storm could choke up the lungs in seconds or blind the eyes permanently. Krig, Paul and Cid were born to it, they could handle the planet's climate with less difficulty but even they put on goggles and wrapped extra scarves around muzzle and mouth.
At least, she thought, no one else would be crazy enough to be out in this storm. Raiders and claim jumpers were a common sight this far from a settlement but they had the good sense to hunker down in a storm this bad. Only the mad and the desperate would take that kind of risk. Erida was starting to have trouble telling which they were. Gods she was actually starting to enjoy her job.
Sealed up and with toolkits in hand, the crew stood on the cargo ramp on the Rig's belly and braced for the storm. At once the wind went from a dull moan outside the hull to a howling gale all about them. Her crewmates became nothing more than rough shapes close to her, easy enough to tell apart by their different sizes and silhouettes, but no details, just shadows and the hazy points of light from headlamps.
"Ramp's down," Came Cid's voice over her headset, the only way to hear each other in the gale.
"Let's get to work, people." Krig ordered.
The crew tromped down the ramp and into the blowing sand. The wind was worse once outside, Erida imagined she could have been blown away if not for all the heavy tools and equipment she carried.
"That's pretty convenient," Cid said from ahead. All at once a wall of metal materialized from the storm, the hull of a ship, bulky and squared off and seemingly ripped in half. Its three decks were exposed in a jagged cross section.
"Alright then, don't have to look for a way in." Krig slung his rifle off his shoulder, "Erida and Paul, get in there and plug into anything with power. Cid, let's do a look around the outside. Stay in touch, call out if you see anything."
A mismatched chorus of agreements answered him and Erida and Paul took a closer look at the split open hull for a good place to get in.
Sand was blowing in and piling in drifts near the opening they chose which were large enough they had to climb and slide back down into the darkness. Once inside it was easier for her lights to make out details. The Wreck had come down right side up, though the deck was slanted roughly ten degrees to one side, port or starboard she couldn't tell yet. She and Paul had come into a corridor, with heavy doors spaced evenly along each side
"A brig maybe?." she said to Paul.
"A very big brig, if it is."
"If you say so."
The cells, at least the ones they passed, were empty. Each locked tight. Row on row until Erida stopped counting.
"This is a prison ship."
"With no prisoners or guards," Paul said.
"Maybe they were flying back empty?" Erida said hopefully.
"Maybe, I'd feel happier if we can get some logs or something."
They were deep inside now, the storm a distant moan and the only light what they brought with them. They hit the end of the row of cells, and the corridor itself. A heavy door, with no access panels or keyholes blocked the way.
"Looks like we need to get cutting." Paul said and the pair set to work, pulling out plasma torches and pry bars.
Even with the right tools Krig and Cid had completed their circle of the ship and found nothing of any immediate concern or interest and joined her and Paul inside.
"Looks like we got the back end of this thing." Cid said.
