The Carrion's Prize drifted through the void like a predator scenting blood, her hull scarred by years of honest dishonesty. Captain Reese Korven stood behind the pilot's station, one hand braced against the overhead bulkhead as his ship adjusted course toward the derelict station hanging in space like a broken promise. Not because he needed to have it braced, no, the gravity was carefully controlled on The Prize to allow for easy navigation of the ship. Reese just enjoyed taking up as much space as he could.
"Talk to me, Vel," he said, not taking his eyes off the viewscreen.
Velasco Chen, the ship's navigator and sensor operator, tapped her console, bringing up a wealth of information. Her augmented left eye whirred softly as it interfaced with the ship's scanning array. "Station's cold, Cap. No thermal signatures, no electromagnetic activity. Oxygen recyclers are offline." She paused, tilting her head. "Been dead for months, maybe longer."
"Life support?" Korven asked with a mock interest as he picked the dirt from beneath his fingernail.
"Zilch. Whatever happened here, nobody stuck around to see the cleanup."
Korven's mouth curved into what might charitably be called a smile. In the salvage business… and that's what they called it, never piracy, never theft but salvage, a dead station was a gift from the universe. No security teams, no distress calls, no inconvenient witnesses filing reports with the UNSC.
"What's the manifest look like?" he asked as he moved closer to Vel, more to be near her then to see the screen.
Boomer, the ship's demolitions expert and self-appointed comic relief, looked up from where he was checking his gear. His real name was something unpronounceable from one of the outer colonies, but everyone called him Boomer on account of his enthusiasm for things that went boom. "Boss, sensors are picking up high-grade electronics, medical equipment, and what looks like experimental tech. The kinda good stuff ya wanna take home to Mom and Pop."
"Define 'good stuff,'" Korven said.
"The kind that pays for a new ship," Boomer grinned, hefting his cutting torch. "Maybe two ships and booze."
Korven felt that familiar itch between his shoulder blades, the one that had kept him alive through fifteen years of dancing around the edges of civilization. Easy scores made him nervous. In his experience, when something looked too good to be true, it usually came with teeth.
"Any idea what kind of facility this was?" he asked.
Vel shrugged. "Records are spotty. Corporate registry lists it as a research station, but the ownership chains are buried under about six layers of shell companies. Could be anything from weapons development to biotech."
"Or worse," muttered Slade, the ship's engineer. He was a thin, nervous man who saw conspiracy in every shadow and somehow managed to keep their stolen ship running despite being held together with salvaged parts and prayer. "You know what they say about abandoned research stations."
"That they're full of valuable equipment?" Boomer suggested cheerfully.
"That they're abandoned for a reason," Slade shot back.
Korven held up a hand before the argument could escalate. "Shut up you two. Vel, bring us in close. Standard salvage approach; dock soft, minimal systems, and if anything looks sideways, we burn hard and fast."
"Copy that," Vel said, her fingers dancing across the navigation controls.
The Carrion's Prize began its approach, thrusters firing in controlled bursts. Through the viewscreen, the station grew larger, its angular bulk resolving into distinct sections. It was clearly a high-end facility, clean lines, expensive alloys, the kind of construction that spoke of serious funding.
Korven was just starting to relax when Vel's voice cut through the bridge. "Cap, looks like we hit something."
He was behind her station in three steps, his good mood evaporating. "Any damage?"
Vel's augmented eye whirred as she scanned the hull readings. A slow grin spread across her face. "Just a popsicle, Cap. Whoever it was, they're having a worse day than us."
Korven snorted. "Good. Last thing we need is explaining even more dents to the quartermaster."
"Assuming we still have a quartermaster after Boomer's last shopping spree," Slade muttered.
"Hey, those explosives were a legitimate business expense," Boomer protested.
"You blew up a casino," Slade pointed out.
"The vault was in the casino. Geography isn't my fault."
Korven tuned out their bickering as the station filled the viewscreen. The docking bay was open, which saved them the trouble of cutting their way in. Small mercies.
"Slade, you're staying with the ship," he ordered. "Keep the engines warm. Vel, Boomer, you're with me. Standard salvage kit, suits, cutting tools, data extractors. We go in light and fast."
"What about weapons?" Boomer asked, buckling on his gear.
"This place has been dead for months. What's going to shoot us, fucking ghosts?"
The docking bay was pristine, sterile, and completely empty. Their boots touched down silently on the deck plating as they made their way toward the station's interior, the sound muted by the lack of atmosphere. Emergency lighting cast everything in a pale blue glow that cast sharp shadows across the bay.
"Creepy," Vel observed, her voice coming through Korven's helmet comm.
"Creepy pays the bills," Korven replied, but he had to admit she had a point. Most abandoned stations showed signs of hasty evacuation, scattered personal effects, opened storage containers, the left overs of lives interrupted. This place looked like everyone had simply vanished mid-task or were never there to begin with.
They made their way through corridors lined with expensive equipment, most of it still in working condition. Boomer whistled appreciatively at a bank of quantum processors that probably cost more than their ship.
"This stuff is military grade," he said, running his scanner over a sealed server rack. "Experimental military grade. The kind of tech that doesn't show up on civilian markets."
"Even better," Korven said. "Military buyers pay premium prices and don't ask inconvenient questions."
They were three levels deep when Vel stopped at an intersection, her head tilted as she listened to something only she could hear.
"Problem?" Korven asked.
"Power surge?" she said, frowning at her readings. "Just a blip, but it came from ahead. Section 7."
"Automated systems?" Korven suggested.
"Maybe. Or maybe someone's home after all."
They approached Section 7 with weapons drawn, but the corridor beyond was as empty as the rest of the station. At the end of the hall, a massive door stood open, revealing a chamber that made them all stop and stare.
The room was dominated by a complex apparatus that looked like a cross between a medical bay and a torture device. Tubes and cables snaked across the floor like technological vines, all leading to a central chair surrounded by neural interface equipment. The rebreather in their helmets read back that something had been here at one point, something organic and unpleasant.
"What the fuck is this place?" Vel whispered.
Boomer approached the chair, his scanner clicking rapidly. "Biometric readers, neural mapping equipment, life support systems..." He looked up, his face pale behind his visor. "This thing was designed to keep someone alive while jacked into... something."
Korven studied the apparatus with growing unease. The neural interface ports were stained with what looked suspiciously like blood, and the restraints on the chair showed signs of struggle. Whatever had happened here, it hadn't been voluntary.
"Any idea what they were interfacing with?" he asked.
"Could be anything," Vel said, running her own scans. "Ship controls, weapons systems, AI networks. From the looks of it, this kind of setup could link a human brain to just about any digital system."
"And if it goes tits up?"
Vel's expression darkened. "Let's just say there's a reason most people stick to manual controls."
Boomer was already pulling components from the apparatus, his natural avarice overcoming his unease. "Whatever it was, this gear is worth a fortune. Direct neural interface technology is bleeding edge. The military applications alone…"
He was cut off by a low rumble that seemed to come from the station itself. The lights flickered, and for a moment, the artificial gravity wavered.
"That wasn't an automated system," Vel said, her voice tight.
Korven's instincts were screaming now. "We're leaving. Grab what you can carry and move."
They worked with practiced efficiency, stripping the most valuable components and loading them into their gear bags. But as they prepared to leave, the rumbling grew stronger, and the lights began flashing in a pattern that definitely wasn't random.
"Cap," Slade's voice crackled through their comms, thick with panic. "Whatever you did in there, you need to get out. Now. I'm reading massive power fluctuations throughout the station, looks like it's trying to drop the core."
"We didn't do anything," Korven snapped, but even as he said it, he knew it didn't matter. They'd triggered something, and whatever it was, it wasn't friendly.
The station shuddered around them as they ran for the docking bay, emergency alarms blaring through the emergency channel in his comms in languages Korven didn't recognize. Behind them, sections of the station were powering up for the first time in months, systems awakening like a giant stirring from sleep.
They reached their ship as the first explosions began, somewhere deep in the station's core. Slade already had the engines spinning up, and they undocked with an urgency that would have been embarrassing under other circumstances.
"What the hell did we stumble into?" Vel gasped as they put distance between themselves and the station.
Before anyone could answer, the station's core went critical. The explosion was visible for several light-minutes, a brief star that outshone the local sun before fading to nothing.
"Well Shit!," Boomer said after a long moment, "that was exciting."
Korven slumped into his captain's chair, adrenaline still coursing through his system. They'd gotten out with their lives and enough salvage to make the trip profitable, but the whole thing left a bad taste in his mouth.
"Set course for Titan's Rest," he ordered. "And next time someone says a job looks too easy, remind me to listen."
As the Carrion's Prize jumped to near FTL, none of them noticed the subtle changes in their ship's systems, or the way certain subsystems began operating just a fraction more efficiently than they had before. In the depths of the ship's computer core, something new had taken residence, something that watched and waited and planned.
Something that had been waiting a long time for a way off that station.