The craft burst out of hyperspace more-or-less intact. A subsystem for making toast had exploded due to a power surge. She would have to clean up the galley later, though. Assuming there was a later, one should never get overconfident in space. Especially after an uncontrolled jump.
The ship had emerged clear of, well, anything.
Her astrogation console was initially blank, but only because it had no idea where she was. It had no difficulty pulling up the map of the galaxy, just not her position in it.
She resigned herself to doing this the hard way. It could be handy to use primitive radio beacons and she'd had an archaic receiver fitted. Well, she'd done most of the work, but it sounded more glamorous that way. It could handle quite a range of frequencies and she set it to scan. Nothing.
She turned the ship and scanned again. This time, a pulsar. Once every half second, she calculated. Repeating this turned up four pulsars and a globular cluster. There were no distances and directions were crude, but only one place in the universe would have pulsars of those timings in those directions.
She grinned. She had an app for that. A slightly non-standard piece of software on the astrogation console. With that information, the console could get a fix and she'd be back in business.
The smile faded. No such configuration? The radio could receive anything that was up to thirty degrees off the central line of the ship in any direction. The software allowed that to be up to thirty five degrees. It also allowed pulsar timings to be up to half or double the given value. The plotted position didn't have to be in known space, pulsars were known in many galaxies and it would calculate for those as well. It could even handle the void between galaxies.
And yet she could see stars. She could hear them, too. She was somewhere.
She was nowhere near her mission objective, so she shelved that as a problem to get back to. For now, she needed an accurate fix on where she was and how to get back.
Pointing not quite in the direction of a star at random, she engaged hyperdrive.
This ride was less thrilling but more intense. She had limited fuel by which to jump to a star by guesswork without landing inside it. That meant flying at a tangent towards a succession of stars, hoping sometimes it would be same one as before and that she'd get closer. She had absolutely no way of knowing if either was true.
After the fifth such ride, by which time serious systems issues were arising, she landed inside a solar system. Her computer denied any knowledge of it, but her radio indicated beacons in space. Primitive, robust beacons of the sort used by cheap illicit mining operations.
That meant supplies, though preferably not at gunpoint. Her ship would be defeated by a thrown insult, never mind a laser.
A battered Dodo space station orbited the fourth world out, a watery world with nothing much to show for itself. There was no message from traffic control, no lights seemed to be on, no ships were outside. On the other hand, the door was open and the systems were sufficiently operational to keep the station going. There were no impact craters, so shields and defensive systems were obviously working.
Gliding in revealed a deserted interior. A docking bay suitable for her ship was activated, however. Her suspicions flared at this, but she had no choice. She remembered advice from her father. The test of a trap is not whether you are suspicious of it, but whether you are caught by it. She decided that she would need to restrict the caught part to her personally.
Gliding almost smoothly to a halt on the landing pad, she disengaged the engines. Docking clamps locked on and the elevator descended to an interior hanger.
No threats were visible, no pirates swarmed outside, nobody was trying to cut their way in. So far, so good. Outside atmosphere was breathable, but she'd take her suit anyway. And a laser knife.
She opened the hatch and clambered outside. Nobody. She headed over to the main corridor and to where the greasiest spacer bar should be. It was there, but there wasn't anybody occupying it. No abandoned or spilled drinks. Someone had tidied up, as no spacer was this clean.
She didn't trust the drinks, but noted that the computer showed all stocks at 100%. Whoever cleaned up had resupplied, too. Why bother, if there were no customers?
The next few businesses were self-evident in nature, although some were illegal on her world. Again, very carefully and thoroughly cleaned and restocked.
A study of a kitchen area revealed karamga steaks, a delicacy on her world. Cutting one in half then heating it with the laser knife revealed that they looked right, smelled right and burned right. At least that item was real. She had wondered, as it's easier to stock up with fake items if you've nobody to sell real ones to. No supply lines or maintenance costs.
Somebody was burning a lot of credits, perhaps tens of millions a month, for an illusion only she was likely to see. And those steaks were fresh, so they were spending that right now.
She jumped at a distant sound. The first sound not triggered by her since she arrived.
Thinking fast, she left the kitchen and headed to the bar. If it was some newcomer, they'd head there too. If it was a wannabe captor, they'd take a look there. It was the one certain spot.
As with most bars, there was a discrete concealed antechamber for rich bounty hunters, security guards, etc. They could monitor the bar without being detectable, even with high-end surveillance equipment. She thanked her brother for mentioning this and how to get in. It occurred to her that whoever was entering might try to go there too, but it was designed to be defensible and she would have some advantage.
A bottle of "burning man" whiskey went with her. It was well-named, containing ingredients banned on most worlds due to their properties as hallucinogens and/or blister agents with hominid and reptilioid species, along with a chemical that was highly reactive in the presence of oxygen. The drink would literally burn all the way down. It was popular with students for drinking games. It was also an excellent deterrent to bar room brawls.
Further up the corridor, the burned steak was being prodded.
Cally watched the scanner as three men entered the bar and moved around. They didn't speak as they thoroughly searched the place. One man noticed the empty bottle and signalled something to the others. Another, who seemed to be the leader, nodded. They seemed keen on surprise and seemed even more keen on being heavily armed. Cally reckoned that approaching them would be a mistake without knowing their intentions.
A sound behind her. She span but was not fast enough. A hand was placed over her mouth but the eyes of the person the hand belonged to were not menacing. Amused, but not threatening. He gestured to her to be quiet and follow him.
They slipped through a secret exit into a maintenance corridor. From there, they made their way up to what would have been the wealthier part of the station.
Once there, he grinned. "You were going to take on three Imperial special forces with a pocket knife and a bottle of whiskey?"
"People likely to be a threat see enemies everywhere. Soaked in this, they'll really see enemies everywhere. That makes the person in front with a gun a target."
"How did you plan on soaking them? Asking them nicely?"
"High explosive, ignition source, high pressure contents, the shrapnel should help get it into the blood stream, too."
"You really are vicious, aren't you?"
Cally shrugged. "I like being friendly. Friendly is easier when you're alive."
"So I see. Does friendly include telling anyone why you're here? I'm confident it's not for the view, unless you really like water."
"That sounds a little like an interrogation. My ship developed a fault, I needed spare parts, by chance I came here."
The man nodded. "Just enough and no more. Good. You've some sense, although if you'd had more you'd not be here."
"Sense is almost never what you think it is."
"A pilot, a lunatic and a philosopher. I'm intrigued."
"Where is here?"
"That's worthy of a philosophical treaty in itself."
"I didn't mean philosophically."
"Neither did I."
"Explain before I decide to waste the whiskey."
The man looked nervously at the bottle. "There are a small number of semi-stable wormholes dotted around each galaxy, mostly linking galaxies together."
"Don't take me for a fool. Even if this was another galaxy, I'd have fixed my position through pulsars."
The man looked impressed. "You're only the second to have thought of that trick. You're right, this isn't another galaxy. I said most. It's possible, but only just, to create an isolated pocket of spacetime. As long as a wormhole runs into it, you can enter or leave at will. If the pocket is small enough, and this one is only twenty five light years across, fixing a position is impossible."
"Who are the others?"
"People using the pocket to hide things, people, information, anything that will give them an edge."
"They're from the Empire."
"Yes, but not necessarily of the Empire. I've seen nothing to suggest they're taking orders or getting supplied. That doesn't mean anything, of course. They are special forces and that means they're going to operate a lot independently. But it does allow for the possibility of them being renegades. Besides, why the space station? They could land on any world and be less noticeable."
"A space station has a better field of view and stealing a wreck is easier than building a base."
"Very observant. It's also much harder to hide for long."
"The how have you managed it?"
"Who says I have?"
Cally grinned her most manic grin. "You value your life too much to be talking to an enemy."
The man's right hand twitched, but as Cally could see no gun, she didn't worry too much. She was confident he didn't have the speed. All she had to do was press a button and the laser would slice into the bottle. Unless he was an android or in invisible battle armour, he wouldn't stand a chance.
A door quietly slid open, but not quietly enough. She'd spun, launched the bottle and ignited it within a tenth of a second. The agonized screams of a dying man filled the room. Behind the intruder stood another, gun drawn. "Put down the knife. That stunt will cost you enough."
Cally had no intention of complying. It takes time to point a gun with any accuracy, particularly when blinded by a fireball, and he hadn't had any. She was out of line of sight before the firing began.
What bothered her was not the shooting as much as that at least one shot had come from behind her and had scorched the wall directly in front. She could freak out over being shot at later.
Over a counter, roll, and... a gun against her neck. This really wasn't fair.
Once in a cell, she rested long enough to mull over the situation. Why let her live? She'd killed one, of that she had no doubt, and it was obvious to them - whoever they really were - that she had less reason now to not do so again if she got the chance. She was of no value, merely a risk.
They'd taken her laser knife, to no great surprise, but had been wary of getting close enough to search her. She didn't have any other weapons, but she did have a few bits and pieces. She'd been well-prepared for a dangerous exploration mission, after all. That requires the ability to control critical ship systems from anywhere.
In the event of an emergency, the simple holding cell she was in would automatically open. It's one thing to be casual about hardened criminals due to be deported to a penal colony, it's another to take chances with a drunk whose family would be voting in the next election. She couldn't escape in her ship, it would stand out and was too badly damaged. Therefore...
...she activated the engines and boosters.
The space station didn't rock, it was much too big, but it did vibrate a little. Klaxons sounded. The fire suppression systems were likely down, or half of them would have stayed quiet. The door, as expected, opened and the local force field switched off.
A guard was outside, but he was too distracted by the alarms to notice becoming suddenly dead.
Taking the gun with her, Cally headed through the corridors towards the section's power distribution system. These were in standard locations on all space stations and were common knowledge. She had very limited experience in zero gravity, but suspected that wasn't unique to her.
At this point, thinking was something that took place when she had a moment. Her body was mostly running off adrenalin at this point, oxygen having been largely used up in the running. Shock at her own violence was scheduled for later that evening.
Gaining entry to the power room was not easy, by design. Fortunately, someone had been entering at the time. Their body blocked the door long enough for her to get in. She hit controls at random before blasting the panel.
A small explosion in the room was followed by a larger thud from an explosion elsewhere. The lighting went out. So did the gravity. It took a while to get there, but she eventually headed back out the door, which slid open a little when pushed.
Once in the corridor, she used the door frame to catapult herself down the hallway, only thinking about the stopping part about halfway down. Twisting herself round worked, but resulted in her partially spinning into a wall. it did stop her, though.
Emergency lighting was now on, but only sporadically. She must have done more damage than she had thought. Emergency gravity was sometimes there as well, so she found herself sliding to the floor.
Sounds of men yelling could be heard from multiple directions. They sounded like they were more concerned with the emergency than an escaped prisoner, so she moved in the direction of the docking bays, albeit in the opposite direction to where the remains of her ship would be.
She had expected trouble and was relying heavily on special forces not being trained to deal with semi-vagabond teens. She had to press on, though, or fall into shock. She'd never killed in cold blood before, never seen it, never encountered it, yet had ended the lives of two people who weren't imminent threats and whose faces weren't obscured by being in another spaceship.
She shook, violently, then drove the thoughts from her mind.