The voice was tinny as it echoed through his helmet. He scanned the surrounding area and lifted up his radar which was echoing out a small "blip" noise. The oxygen systems of the ship had failed, spewing out a foul ammonia compound instead. Something had really gone to work on the ship. Overhead a cable crackled as a blue but violet tinged spark jumped down onto the ground, earthing itself dramatically.
The suit was insulated but the captain still felt the hairs on his arm stand on end. Survival was still an inherent human trait, after all.
"Negative. Moving to search grid B-14." He responded, his voice wavering.
This had once been an active mining and research vessel commissioned by Ceres to trawl the Kuiper belt. It would jettison to an asteroid and a team would search for evidence of micro-organisms beneath the surface in the ongoing battle to discover extra-terrestrial life. Once it was determined to be clear, the mining process would begin and the asteroid would be cleared of all usable compounds.
Dalia wasn't the only ship of her kind, nor the largest. She was just one of a number in a production line set out to perform the same task. It was a task that had been routine for the last couple of centuries and had slowly become less and less dangerous as the technology improved. They had yet to find any life that wasn't born of Earth or descended from an organism which first originated on Earth. Still, it kept the company directors happy. They didn't want the one asteroid containing extra-terrestrial life to have been decimated by a ship carrying their logo. Thus the survey became a meaningless necessity.
There had been accidents. There had been disasters. These were commonplace and though the frequency diminished, it was all too expected that loss of contact with a vessel could mean the untimely death of all aboard it. Given the ammonia, it seemed natural to assume that the failure of this one was mechanical. Probably an explosion. The broken wiring and countless debris trails were evidence of that. The oxygen systems were probably damaged in the process. It wasn't even the first wreckage with similar circumstances the captain had been aboard.
Except for the fact that there were no bodies.
This had been a fairly active mining vessel. There had been at least 200 crew members aboard it. Safety regulations insisted that there would be escape pods to carry that many so naturally, most would flee. But an explosion would be instantaneous. If the mining ship had hit a pocket of gas and it had reverberated up the ship, it would simply be impossible for everybody to clear the area in time. There would be a few at least.
Here was just...nothing. He proceeded towards search grid B-14.
"Moving to search grid B-14. Do you copy me ensign?" He spoke into his helmet. There was nothing but static.
He paused.
"Base control. This is Captain Walker calling in. Lost contact with Ensign Charlton. Do you copy?"
Again, there was just static. This was not a great time to lose communications. This place gave him the creeps. All he had to do was find Charlton and they could contact base control, report the explosion and get the hell out of there. He opened the door to the docking bay and froze in his tracks.
All of the escape pods were present and accounted for. So where the hell were the crew? Feeling very self-aware, he sidled up to the north wall of the docking bay and walked towards Living Quarters E. With a swift shove, he pushed the door release and stepped out into hell.
It was all internal. The room was actually fairly placid, which in itself was the problem. Strewn across the floor were uniforms, clothes, possessions. They were all perfectly laid out. He put his hand down towards his blaster rifle and crept forth. Next to one of the outfits was a coke can. It had spilled onto the floor, as if it had just been dropped there. This was not symptomatic of an explosion at all. The crew had been vaporised...not in itself an uncommon occurrence but not like this. The clothes would be destroyed. This was something the captain had never seen before in his life, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
If he just called it an explosion they wouldn't check. He had to get out of here right now.
"Base control..." He began but it was fruitless. With a sigh he marched back out into the docking bay and paused. The escape pods were all still present. Maybe he should...
"Beep.....beep......beep.........beep....."
He looked down at his radar which was slowly blinking. The search teams couldn't be detected by the radar, their uniforms blocked it. So it couldn't be the ensign. One of the crew members?
"Beep.....beep......beep"
It was getting faster as the signal approached his position. Fight or flight was slowly starting to take over. It seemed irrational but this was an unusual situation. The captain glanced across to the escape pods. How could he explain it? He couldn't say the life-form detector had scared him away. But this wasn't natural. It wasn't normal. He looked back over to the door. Whoever was coming was almost there.
In a split second, the captain went from staring at the door to dashing for the escape pods. Survival was imperative. Let the consequences come. As he dashed across, the door opened with a clunk.
He turned around but there was nothing but blackness. In the briefest second, he saw something orange and slitted that might have been a very large eye. It was hard to tell, and he wouldn't have any time to process it anyway. All processes immediately ceased. There was the sensation of something enormous, an ear-splitting and inhuman shrieking noise and then simply nothing.
A few corridors away from where he was standing, a large metallic crate lay open, torn apart by a tremendous power. On the side of the remaining crate was a symbol. It was a large and sinister staring eye.
