It always happened when things were quiet. Lieutenant Dewey Tyler knew it, and yet he dared to pick up his tablet. He dared to open a book in it to read. Two pages in, his feet free of his boots, and things weren’t quiet anymore.

“Lieutenant Tyler? Major wants to see you.”

“On my way, Dunn.”

“I’ll let the major know.”

Private First Class Dunn’s footsteps banged on the metal floor of the corridor as she jogged back to the bridge.

Dewey stared at the words on the tablet. A part of him said that another paragraph couldn’t hurt. A larger part of him was already sitting, his toes finding the top edges of his boots, and sliding home. He tapped the screen to put the tablet to sleep and then pocketed it. Maybe it wasn’t a big thing. Something simple that he could accomplish quickly and get back to reading. He wouldn’t even take off his boots, wouldn’t lie down. Just sit on the edge of his bunk, and read.

“Right, Dewey, cause that’s always how it works.” He checked himself in the metal mirror, and then marched into the corridor and forward to the bridge.

It wasn’t a long walk to the bridge of a Hospitaller patrol ship. His quarters were past medical, and near the stairs that led down to the response platoon’s quarters, and training. The other way led to loading bay 2, and then the engine compartments. Not a long walk, but long enough to give Dewey time to wonder about the request to report to the bridge.

And they didn’t request his presence over the comm. That, too, was curious.

“Major Simmons,” Dewey said. “Lieutenant Tyler reporting as ordered.”

Major Helen Simmons looked up from where she was bent over the comm station operated by Cpl Marcia Robertson, and PFC Camille Dunn.

“Lieutenant,” the major said. She added a nod to her return greeting. “We received an incoming message. A distress signal.”

Dewey regretted trying to read his book. “Is it local? I was under the impression the in-system marauders had been quelled.”

That was why it had become so quiet throughout the system. After four months of attacks and forced boardings of enemy ships, the quiet had been welled-earned. But apparently not quite enough to read a book.

“No, Lt Tyler,” said Cpl Roberston. “It’s coming in from the Kongxu system.”

That was why the Major had called him up to the bridge. “The Kongxu system is uninhabited. Five planets, four of them are gas giants. Well, there’s a sixth body, but it’s a burnt rock so close to the sun we’d burn to a crisp the moment we touched the surface.”

“So, the fifth planet?” Maj Simmons’s eyebrows were arched, hinting at the lack of patience she was feeling.

“Yes, of course, Major,” Dewey said. “There’s a standard-size rocky planet. Someone actually bothered to name it: Wenshen. But no one ever colonized it because the atmosphere is just acidic enough to burn skin and lungs after a short exposure to it. Oh, and of course, it would permanently blind people, too.”

“Sounds like a fun place,” said PFC Dunn. “Couldn’t they have terraformed it?”

“Supposedly they tried in the first expansion,” Dewey said. “But the atmosphere corroded the equipment before it could make a significant difference.”

“So there’s no reason to be there,” said the major. It was a statement, not a question.

“Shouldn’t be. Oh, there was some research done on the planet just about the time the Radial War began. The information is thin, but it seems that the researchers were pulled as the war picked up speed.”

Dewey liked to read. When he read, he read a lot. His brain was a sponge when it came to information. His level of recall, once he read something, was nearly as good as that of the handlers who worked with the Wutenigels. Dewey could talk about the history of those creatures, too, if given a chance. Which he wasn’t going to get right now.

“Okay,” the major said. She walked back to her seat. “We have a distress signal in an unoccupied, unclaimed system. Cpl Robertson, send a request to respond over to system command. Lt Tyler, you might want to prep your teams. Just in case.”

“Will do, Major.”

Dewey left the bridge with one backward look at the comm station. Cpl Robertson had a comm mic, what they called a plunger, over her mouth as she communicated with system command. This was just a lowly patrol ship that had specific permissions and responsibilities. Jumping out of system, even to respond to a distress signal, was not one of them. Command could elect to send someone else. Though, based on their ship’s position, they were the likely candidate.

Admittedly, Dewey wouldn’t mind if someone else went. Maybe then he could get back to his book.

“What’s going on, Lieutenant?”

Dewey paused and looked left. He was in the corridor that led aft to the crew quarters, the mess hall, and the stairs down to his platoon. His quarters were to port along with MSgt Roberson, and several empty rooms for visiting officers. Parallel with his quarters were the medical offices. MedTech1 Terrence Phillips was sitting on one of the examination tables, his own tablet in his hands. Was he getting time to read? What was he reading? Dewey might not ever know.

He poked a thumb back toward the bridge. “Distress call just came through.”

MedTech Phillips hopped off the table. “I thought the system was cleaned up?”

“It’s coming from another system.” Dewey nodded in the direction of the mess hall. “I need to go brief my teams.”

“Understand, Lieutenant.”

Dewey returned to walking the length of the ship, passing through the ship’s crew quarters, and then through the mess hall where he could smell the spices and oils that would be part of lunch. Past the mess hall, the corridor continued with an initial interruption by wide spiral stairs leading to lower levels. Dewey followed them to the next level, where they opened onto the Response Platoon’s quarters.

The platoon was modified by attrition such that there were now only two squads rather than three. A new squad was scheduled to transfer over within seventy-two hours. If the ship was sent to investigate the distress signal, they’d be doing it shorthanded.

“Attention on deck!” The voice boomed through the platoon quarters as Dewey stepped through the hatchway. A dozen Hospitallers leaped from bunks, jumped up from tables, snapping to attention at Sergeant Shelley Perry’s command.

“Stand easy, everyone,” Dewey said. Around him, the Hospitallers took a more relaxed stance but did not resume whatever it was they’d been doing previously. Dewey looked around. “Everyone here? Where’s the staff sergeant? Who else is missing?”

“I’m here, LT.”

Dewey turned to see SSgt Diane Castro exiting her private quarters to starboard. As a Staff NCO, she had her own space, though it wasn’t a lot of space, about half of what Dewey had, and no private head.

“PFC Ramirez is in the shower,” said Sgt Perry. Ramirez was one of her charges.

“PFC Burke and Pvt Becker are forward, in the cargo bay,” added Sgt Parks, 1st squad’s leader.

“Get everyone, please,” Dewey said. He didn’t have to say please. His words were orders. When he’d been a private, he’d jumped when asked to jump, and no one had to say please. It was just his own habit.

Two Hospitallers instantly bolted from the room.

“What’s going on, Lieutenant?” asked SSgt Castro.

“Message. May mean action. Let’s wait.”

They all stood around in an awkward silence that was slowly filled with the sounds of three pairs of boots sprinting in from the loading bay.

“PFC Burke reporting, Lieutenant.”

“Private Becker reporting, Lieutenant.”

“Stand easy. Where’s…? Ah, Ramirez, good. We can start.”

Ramirez had appeared from the directions of the showers. She had a towel wrapped around her torso, and a second one hanging on her head.

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” she said.

“No need, Ramirez. No need.” Dewey paused and looked around. “All right. There’s been a distress signal. It’s come from out of the system. From an unoccupied, uninhabited system.”

“Pirates?” someone asked.

“Don’t know yet,” said Dewey. “Don’t even know if we’re going to be the ones that respond. But as we might, I need everyone to gear up. Assume hostiles. Plan for the worst.”

“Business as usual, Lieutenant.”

Dewey grinned. “That’s right, Cpl Mitchell, business as usual.”

“Staff Sergeant Castro, get them suited and booted. Let me know when everyone’s ready.”

“Will do, Lt Tyler.” Castro turned to the platoon. “Suit up kids. Let’s have some fun.”

Cheers and joviality filled the air. Dewey headed back to the stairs until the ship-wide comm pinged for everyone’s attention.

“This is Maj Simmons. Prepare for action. Stand by for jump.”

“That answers that,” Dewey said as he turned back to face his platoon. “We’re going to the rescue.”

Lt Tyler’s platoon quickly suited up. Some, like PFC Ramirez, had to move a little faster than others. However, before the last warning for jump, everyone was dressed and ready. Those who felt queasy during jump were already lying in their bunks. The rest were seated and buckled in. Sometimes dropping out of jump came with surprises. Nothing more embarrassing than being thrown across the dorm room because the ship fell out of jump and ran into an ambush or an uncharted asteroid field.

As Dewey was some distance from his own quarters, he sat in a nearby chair and buckled in.

“Two, one….” Maj Simmons’s voice stopped, and the shiver of entering jump completed her sentence.

The jump was short. The ship only had to move over to the next system, four light-years away as the photon flies. No one had time to fall asleep or tell a tried-and-true corny joke before the ship dropped out of jump.

Dewey looked around, catching SSgt Castro’s eye. He gave her a nod.

Castro grinned, and said, “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

“I’ve been through the opposite,” said Sgt Perry. “I prefer the anticlimactic any day.”

The comm buzzed, signaling that a message was forthcoming.

“Lieutenant Tyler to the bridge.” PFC, Anderson, or Dunn, Dewey wasn’t entirely sure. Except for the noses, they could have passed as twins.

“Don’t keep us in the dark long, L.T.”

Dewey flipped the latch on his lap restraint. “Never, Cpl Garner.”

Several people chuckled at the exchange. Dewey left the bunk room, and made his way up the stairs, and then forward to bridge. Besides Maj Simmons and MSgt Roberson, Cpl Theresa Knight was on nav with PFC Fox. PFC Angel Anderson was at the comm station. Weapons station was currently unoccupied. If needed, Dewey would have one of his fireteams in place.

“Lieutenant Tyler reporting.”

“Thank you for joining us,” Maj Simmons said. “Have a seat. We’ve images coming on the screens momentarily.”

Dewey took the empty seat behind the major. MSgt Roberson was in the other and gave Dewey a welcome nod.

There were no portholes or windows on the bridge. The bridge wasn’t even at the front of the ship. Instead, weapons and stowage were forward. Command was nearly in the center of the ship, protected by other sections, and extra layers of ballistic, and steel shielding. Hundreds of cams, embedded in the outer skin of the ship, provided the view displayed on the screens. Five screens provided the illusion of windows.

Dewey watched the center three screens that were currently displaying a starfield. A filtered image of the Kongxu system’s star was visible to the left. Several discs in the center screen were the gas giants. Wenshen, the almost-habitable planet, was not visible to the naked eye, and might not even be on this side of the system. Dewey’s mind held facts, the math took a lot more work.

“Data coming in, Major,” said PFC Fox. She’d turned in her seat to speak, and then spun back to her station, her fingers attacking the keys, and touchscreens.

“Thank you, Fox,” said Maj Simmons.

The image on the center screen winked. The starfield was gone, replaced by a slightly blurred image of a transport ship.

“What do we have? MSgt Roberson?”

“Modified transport, Major,” Roberson said after a short pause to consult a small screen to his right.

“Damage?”

“Engines are offline.”

“Anderson,” Maj Simmons said. “That the source of our distress signal?”

“Yes, Major.”

“Hail them?”

There was a long pause while PFC Anderson spoke into the plunger. It filtered out sounds that the ship might not want anyone else to hear and kept the speaker’s voice clear and isolated. Several times she shook her head. She made a series of adjustments on her station’s controls while she continued to talk. At least, Dewey had to assume she was talking, based on the motion of the muscles in her cheeks.

“There’s something, Maj Simmons,” Anderson said after several more adjustments to the controls at her station. “I think they can hear me, but I think they’ve lost too much power to boost a comm signal.”

“Any other ships in the system? Cpl Knight?”

“Nothing, Major.” Cpl Knight looked up at the screen to her right. Dewey followed her lead.

The screen showed a simple version of the system with over-sized circles for the planets. White lines arcing out from the circles traced their orbits around the Kongxu star. Two other dots were present. The green one Dewey knew was their ship, the Shnel Shnek. The red dot was the transport ship.

“All right, then,” said Maj Simmons. “Bring us closer.”

For the next two hours, Dewey watched as they moved closer to the other ship. At some point, crew brought boxed lunches from the mess hall. Dewey recognized them as the second fireteam from first squad. Shultz, Burke, and Becker. Each of them gave Dewey a questioning look as they passed by. Dewey signaled for them to remain quiet, and to fall back, which they did after dispersing the meals.

As the ship continued its approach, the bridge became tinted with the smell of protein spread from the sandwiches in the lunch. It was one of the better flavors, Dewey considered, which meant the smell was bearable. If he’d been in charge, they’d never open a container of spread while onboard. Stick with pouches and bars was his opinion.

“We have comms, Maj Simmons,” PFC Anderson said.

“Fox? We have ID on that ship?”

“Sort of, Major.” PFC Fox wobbled her head, mimicking confusion. “It’s the Tunkum Panri, but it doesn’t show up in any registry.”

“So they’re running gray,” Maj Simmons said. “Weapons?”

Dewey tapped on the screen to his right. It was small, and could be flipped on a hinge, and slid out of the way as necessary. It took him several seconds to pull up the right window and scan through the readings.

“They have self-defense,” Dewey said. “But it’s either down or offline.”

“Fun,” Maj Simmons said. “Okay, Anderson, let me talk to them.”

PFC, Anderson set her plunger on the comm station and tapped the monitor screen in several places. “All yours, Major.”

“Tunkum Panri, this is the Shnel Shnek of the Hospitallers. You copy?”

The reply was quick, though the comm sounded distant. “Copy, Shnel Shnek.”

Maj Simmons motioned upward with a thumb, and PFC Fox made adjustments at her station that brought the distant voice closer.

“This is Maj Simmons. What seems to be the nature of your distress?”

It was more than a mere formality. They had already managed to assess the external damage. But there might be problems inside that were of greater concern. For example, a failing life-support system.

“Thank you for coming, Major.” The other voice took a deep breath. Whispers of others somewhere near the comm on the other ship were heard. “We’ve lost engines, defenses, and our escape pods, and airlocks are damaged.”

Maj Simmons tapped a circle on her chair’s screen, muting the comm. She turned, and looked at MSgt Roberson, and then in Dewey’s direction.

“That’s some interesting damage,” she said.

MSgt Roberson nodded. “It’s almost like someone didn’t want them to escape.”

“Might be coming back,” Dewey ventured.

“Good point, both of you.” Simmons turned back to the front. “Fox, set up a wide scan. Let me know if anything pops in from another system. Cpl Knight, bring us closer to the Tunkum Panri.”

“Yes, Major,” Knight said.

The major tapped the button to unmute the comm. “That’s pretty selective damage, Tunkum Panri. Any chance you know how this happened?”

The laugh on the other side was bitter. “That we do, Major. It was an allied planet attack ship.”

“Well, that is interesting,” said MSgt Roberson.

“Yes, it is,” Maj Simmons said after a short pause with the mute button. To the other ship, she said, “Why would an A.P. attack ship come after you?”

It was standard procedure, if dealing with smugglers, to order them to stand down. Most did. The others had their engines disabled. But only a desperate smuggler would resist a military ship. The defensive weapons on the ship, from Dewey’s quick survey, would do little damage to a military-grade ship. So why, indeed?

“‘Why?’ To kill us, Major.”