Flash Fic: Reciprocal

"Huh, that's odd."

Dynvut, captain of the Spica Logistics freighter Anabasis looked over at the pilot's station. The ship's helmsman, a freshly minted merchant service lieutenant by the name of Winstone, was peering intently at the sensor display. Dynvut flowed over to stand behind Winstone. "What do you have, Lieutenant?"

"Got a ship heading outbound for the Deltran jump point. Not a freighter, and it's a singleton. There's another--" Winstone's report was interrupted as the young human sucked in a sharp breath. "Captain, we just picked up a core detonation in high orbit over New Venice!"

"Scan for survivors, Mr. Winstone," the semi-sauroid captain ordered calmly.

"Aye, Captain. Scanning." Winstone trained radar and lidar arrays towards the affected volume, knowing that a detonation of the intensity he'd just witnessed wouldn't leave anyone or anything within 500 kilometers alive.

"Captain, you have an incoming communication request from Bartolomeo Spaceport," announced the comm officer.

"Put them through."

"Anabasis, this is Bartolomeo Spaceport. Be advised we have registered a core detonation in high orbit. We are designating that area as restricted and an ongoing navigation hazard. We will adjust parking orbit assignments accordingly. Please acknowledge."

"Bartolomeo, this is Anabasis. We acknowledge the hazard declaration and will wait for parking assignment. Anabasis, over and out." Dynvut looked back at Winstone. "No escape pods, I presume?"

"Negative, Captain. Nothing. And I've been looking at the logs for the last half hour. We had the orbiting ship on sensors right when we hit the bingo point and it was sitting fat, dumb, and happy. Had the other ship, the outbound one, burning like a bat out of hell." He looked over his shoulder at the captain. "The outbound ship's velocity was what caught my eye initially, Sir."

"What can you tell me about those two ships?"

"The one in orbit was in the heavy cruiser range, judging from mass readings and core detonation intensity." Winstone glanced at another sensor display. "Mag-pinch ammonia fusion, from the remains."

"Pirates," Dynvut said, his voice only slightly cooler than normal.

"Most likely, Captain," agreed Winstone.

"And the other one?"

"Energy signature was pretty high, but a thin ejecta fingerprint. Collapsar core, so definitely military, but old. Thirty years, maybe longer." A beep from the console caught Winstone's attention. "Got a hit based off mass and recorded energy patterns. Ferryman-class assault frigate. Didn't think there were any of those left."

"Captain," the comm officer piped up. "I have Bartolomeo on the horn again. It's in response to our manifest. We were supposed to shuttle some cargo to a settlement on the surface, far removed from the spaceport or the major cities. They're requesting an inspection party from us to confirm failure for delivery."

Dynvut's inner eyelids flicked several times in confusion. There was always somebody to sign for a delivery. The only reason to report a cargo consignment as "failed to deliver" was if the cargo was seized by the authorities or...

"Inform Bartolomeo we'll have a party ready to meet them at the pad once we're in orbit."

*    *    *

The shuttle flew directly from the spaceport to a set of coordinates provided by New Venice authorities. Winstone kept his eyes forward as his hands held the flight stick lightly. The dozen Peaceforce troops in the hold were secured, but none of them looked happy.

A thick black finger of smoke came up over the edge of the horizon, growing large and more ominous the closer Winstone flew towards it. He glanced over at the co-pilot's station, looking for some reaction from Dynvut. The absence of one wasn't encouraging.

One of the Peaceforce troops, a captain by his insignia, moved up, poking his head through the gap between the pilot and co-pilot seats. "I don't think we're going to like what we find when we get there," he said quietly.

"Pirates don't generally leave behind anything any normal person would find enjoyable," Dynvut replied. His species didn't have much in the way of vocal inflection or facial expressiveness, but Winstone would have sworn his skipper was borderline infuriated.

The smoke towered over the remains of a small settlement, perhaps only forty or fifty families. Homes, businesses, a quiet little town rent asunder. As the shuttle circled the area, Winstone noticed a sort of furrow just outside the edge of town. Too deep to be made by any sort of farm equipment, not long enough to support much in the way of crops. The outbuildings near the edge of the furrow were equally puzzling.

"Set down over there, Mr. Winstone," Dynvut ordered, setting a navigation "pin" in the pilot HUD.

"Aye, Captain." Winstone brought the shuttle around and brought it down gently, then dropped the cargo ramp. The Peaceforce troops made their way down, weapons at the ready as they fanned out. Dynvut and Winstone followed, their sidearms holstered but ready to be brought out.

Up close, the destruction was worse. The settlement was surprisingly cosmopolitan for such an out-of-the-way spot. Yet the bulk of the bodies were civilians: unarmed, unarmored, and clearly trying to flee whoever had murdered them. Winstone felt his gorge trying to storm past his teeth as he beheld the aftermath of the atrocity. Strangely, they seemed to be heading towards the direction of the furrow. And, Winstone noted, there was a marked lack of Terran corpses.

As the party continued through the ruins, they found the first evidence of resistance. The first pirate bodies, and the first human corpse, a well kept "shredder" flechette rifle half-pinned underneath. A few more humans here and there, mostly armed, and a lot more pirates. Once past the town square, the attackers seemed to have hit a wall and bounced off to go after easier prey. And apparently, human defenders had pursued them.

Winstone shuddered as he saw a middle-aged woman laying with her back against a shed near the furrow, one of the few structures still intact. A heavy beam cannon was in her hands, the wounds she'd sustained heavy beyond belief.

Dynvut came close, seeing a piece of paper tacked to the door with a combat knife. "They burned our home," he read out loud. "Have gone to return the favor." The inner eyelids flicked. "Signed, 'the Immortals.'" He looked over at Winstone. "Does that name mean anything to you?"

"Ancient Earth history. Pre-technic culture known as the Persians had a standing force known as the Immortals." Winstone's eyes widened. "But more recently, there was a mercenary company known as the Immortals. They just sort of...retired about twenty years back. Nobody knew where they went. Interstellar Commerce Authority made some noise because they made off with a Ferryman-class assault frigate!"

"And does this hole here match the dimensions of a Ferryman?"

"I would say so, Captain."

Dynvut took a deep breath, his sinuous body rippling back and forth. "I don't generally feel much sympathy for pirates. In this case, that lack of sympathy is augmented considerably. If anything," he said, the closest approximation of a smile coming over his face, "I almost want to watch when they get what's coming to them."

 (This piece originally appeared in r/humansarespaceorcs)