{"data":{"id":13999,"title":"Orbital Supermax: Episode One","rsi_url":"https:\/\/robertsspaceindustries.com\/comm-link\/serialized-fiction\/13999-Orbital-Supermax-Episode-One","api_url":"https:\/\/api.star-citizen.wiki\/api\/comm-links\/13999","api_public_url":"https:\/\/api.star-citizen.wiki\/comm-links\/13999","channel":"Undefined","category":"Undefined","series":"Orbital Supermax","images":[{"id":1947,"name":"OSM_FI2v4a.jpg","rsi_url":"https:\/\/robertsspaceindustries.com\/media\/hqo978t1u2njxr\/source\/OSM_FI2v4a.jpg","alt":"","size":1895039,"mime_type":"image\/jpeg","last_modified":"2014-07-03T22:49:29+00:00","api_url":"https:\/\/api.star-citizen.wiki\/api\/comm-link-images\/1947","similar_url":"https:\/\/api.star-citizen.wiki\/api\/comm-link-images\/1947\/similar"}],"images_count":1,"translations":{"en_EN":"Psychology is war. You walk into a room, sometimes by choice, sometimes because you\u2019ve been busted for diverting medical supplies from Med Bay to the prisoners\u2019 infirmary, and sit across from the enemy while they do everything they can to get inside your head.\n\n\u201cDo I need to remind you,\u201d asked Cayla Wyrick, my psychologist, \u201cthat failure to comply with these sessions is a violation of the agreement you made with Captain Fieras to keep you out of a four by four cell?\u201d\n\nShe had a long neck and a narrow, but pretty face that made her everyone\u2019s favorite civilian contractor. Her blonde locks were cut short, but stylishly done, and her makeup was immaculate, like she was daring any one of OSP-4\u2019s caged monkeys to try something. She was young for a therapist, especially one stationed way out here in the Banshee system.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t understand why Fieras insisted on these sessions. I\u2019m a smuggler, not a mental patient.\u201d\n\nShe crossed her legs and sat back in her chair. \u201cAnd if a smuggler was all you were, I\u2019m certain he would have simply fired you. Or thrown you in a cell. But you have a history, don\u2019t you?\u201d\n\nI took a sip of ice water and put the glass on a nearby table. There was a huge vid screen behind her that showed a starscape. In a couple of hours, Lorona, the planet in whose Lagrange point we sat, would heave itself into view on the lower right.\n\nOf course she\u2019d read my file. She\u2019d probably watched the vids of the fiery explosion that had claimed my brother\u2019s life.\n\nI resented Danny for dying so publicly. If we\u2019d been miners in some nameless asteroid belt, no one would have cared about the details. But we\u2019d been pilots, best and second-best at the Academy, and when he\u2019d died I\u2019d had to accept the medal that should have been his, because I\u2019d been right behind him on the scoreboards. That single incident had become a gold mine for the head shrinkers I\u2019d seen in the years since the incident. Any action I took was labelled survivor\u2019s syndrome, or twinless twin syndrome, or any number of other personality disorders. Now that I\u2019d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, Fieras and Wyrick were falling over themselves in their rush to call it something other than what it was: a crime of greed.\n\nI didn\u2019t want to go through another minute of therapy. I\u2019d rather spend my time in a cell.\n\n\u201cYou know that blush you\u2019re wearing is contraband? These guys use the pigment for prison tattoos. Or wear it. You know. It takes all kinds.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2026 and I think we\u2019re done for the day,\u201d she replied, tapping a few keys on the notepad and then letting the screen go dark.\n\nA small flash, like someone lighting a match in a dark room, attracted my attention to the screen behind her. One of the stars began to move. It grew from pinprick to buttonhole, gaining velocity exponentially until it shot off the top right corner of the screen and disappeared. The whole process had taken maybe five seconds, and it took me slightly longer than that to figure out what I was looking at.\n\nI launched myself out of my chair at Wyrick. My weight caught her in the shoulder and overturned her chair. A heartbeat later the station shook violently and the lights flickered before going out. A blast of super-heated air blew off the cover of the air conditioning vent and flames shot out of it, briefly painting the darkened office with shades of orange. Emergency lights in the base of each wall came on and we could see again, albeit dimly.\n\nI rolled away from her and got to my knees. To her credit she didn\u2019t say a word about my knocking her down. \u201cWhat happened?\u201d she asked instead.\n\n\u201cWe got hit by a missile,\u201d I said. \u201cAt least one. For some reason, our automatic defenses didn\u2019t come online to prevent the attack.\u201d\n\nThe emergency lights changed from red to yellow and flashed a pattern that indicated the door. An inoffensive, computer-generated voice spoke from everywhere at once. \u201cLieutenant Cayla Wyrick, as the highest ranking officer on board Orbital Supermax Prison 4, you are now in command. Please follow the yellow lights to the Auxiliary Command Deck.\u201d\n\n\u201cLieutenant Wyrick?\u201d I said sarcastically back to the computer. \u201cThat\u2019s her paygrade, not her rank!\u201d\n\nCivilian contractors were paid on the same scale as the military. Wyrick was obviously an OS-9, which meant she got paid the same as a lieutenant. But that wasn\u2019t the same thing as actually being a lieutenant. She couldn\u2019t give orders, or even be saluted. The computer had made a mistake, and it didn\u2019t take me long to realize what else that meant. We\u2019d been attacked with surgical precision. Everyone with any real rank was already dead.\n\nWyrick threw the notepad onto her desk and tapped on the starscape until it dissolved into a map of the station. Green sections were undamaged, yellow meant that we\u2019d suffered a non-lethal holing on that deck, and red meant that we could safely cut the prison food budget. There was a lot of red.\n\nWyrick\u2019s fingers danced across the vidscreen. \u201cCommand, Engineering, Med Bay \u2026 they\u2019re all offline.\u201d\n\nI joined her at the screen. \u201cMay I?\u201d\n\nShe glared at me, then reluctantly keyed in her override codes. Without wasting any time, I swapped back to the starscape and then zoomed in as far as I could on the source of those missiles. It didn\u2019t take much scrolling to find a small pleasure craft that had been hastily modified to accept huge missile racks. Several more fighters flew nearby in close formation. A larger ship lurked behind them, but the station\u2019s limited magnification gave it a pixelated look and I couldn\u2019t quite make out what it was. Suddenly, the image was obscured by something so large that it too was pixelated. A fighter maybe, passing very close to the station. And not one of the UEE\u2019s either.\n\nI tried the emergency channels but all I heard was the dull hiss of static across all wavelengths. We were being jammed. \u201cPirates. I don\u2019t know what they\u2019re doing here, but it can\u2019t be good.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it a prison break?\u201d asked Wyrick.\n\n\u201cMaybe? But you\u2019d think that anyone worth a small flotilla would have been flown immediately to Kellog VI,\u201d I said, meaning the infamous prison planet. Installations like OSP-4 were prisons in their own right, but also feeding stations, temporary lodgings where high-risk prisoners from the outer systems could be held, pending transfer to Kellog VI. \u201cIt might just be a raid. Once a pirate pack gets too big they can\u2019t sustain themselves on plunder from the occasional freighter. An installation like this might be a tempting target. The prisoners are just an added bonus. Or they\u2019re expendable, depending on the whims of the pirates.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut aren\u2019t there defenses?\u201d\n\n\u201cSure.\u201d As the prison\u2019s former quartermaster I was in a better position to know than anyone else still alive on the station. I punched up the flight deck. Debris floated in the air. A dark, human-shaped silhouette tumbled lazily through the micro-gravity. A quick scan highlighted a jagged gash in the hull. Decompression had been swift and violent, but the station\u2019s two fighters were still on their pads. \u201cLooks like we didn\u2019t put up much of a fight.\u201d\n\nA dull vibration and then a thump echoed through the deck all around us. I felt my stomach lift as gravity fluctuated. The ominous hiss of air escaping through the vents was a sign that we\u2019d suffered too much damage for the station\u2019s systems to patch, and that meant that breathing was going to get difficult pretty quickly.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ve gotta go,\u201d I said.\n\nReluctantly, she followed me out the door and down the hall.\n\nThe damage was more extensive than I thought. Wires descended from the drop-ceiling like jungle vines, dripping sparks onto the floor. The air smelled of ozone and burnt rubber and was uncomfortably hot, as if a fire raged just out of sight. The hallways we passed through were empty and dim, except for the occasional flash and sizzle from the wiring overhead. The computer was guiding us to Aux Command, but I had a different plan. Instead I turned aside to the prison\u2019s Maximum Security block.\n\n\u201cWhat are we doing here?\u201d she asked. We stood in front of a red, metal door with a keypad at its center.\n\n\u201cThe comm systems are down and that means there\u2019s no way for us to send a distress signal. Unless we get lucky and someone sends us an unscheduled prisoner transfer, the earliest we can expect help is two weeks from now. Waiting here is not an option.\u201d I let my tone convey an additional meaning. \u201cEspecially for you.\u201d\n\nWyrick shifted uncomfortably. \u201cThere are 1600 prisoners and two hundred staff members aboard this facility. We can\u2019t leave them behind.\u201d\n\nI stifled my aggravation. \u201cYou\u2019re a therapist and I\u2019m a quartermaster. Neither of us is hero material. There are two fighters still on the flight deck. We can use them to get off this station and warn the UEE.\u201d\n\nUnconvinced, she looked up at the door. \u201cOkay, but then what are we doing here?\u201d\n\n\u201cGetting hero material,\u201d I said with a smirk on my face.\n\nI\u2019d done a little digging back when I\u2019d started \u2018misplacing supplies for profit\u2019 just in case I ever needed a little inside help to make a quick escape, and every official document I could lay my hands on said that the guy we were about to liberate was the best damned pilot aboard. He was ex-military, so most of the files I\u2019d found were redacted, but I\u2019d found a list of medals he\u2019d received and pretty much the only ones he didn\u2019t have were the ones you got for taking a bullet.\n\nOpening the Maximum Security door was like opening an oven. A blast of superheated air seared my face and I looked away involuntarily. There weren\u2019t any flames visible in the passageway, but some of the plastic fascia on the walls burped and puckered.\n\n\u201cGive me your card,\u201d I said with a wave of my hand.\n\n\u201cNylund,\u201d said Wyrick, \u201cyou can\u2019t \u2026\u201d\n\nI nodded down the passageway. \u201cDon\u2019t worry, I\u2019ll be back. I\u2019m not escaping through that.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s not what I meant,\u201d she replied, but gave me the card anyway.\n\nMy instincts were telling me not to go in. The heat was too intense, the air wasn\u2019t breathable, that kind of thing. I ignored them. I might have been able to find another pilot, but this guy was the best and I\u2019d convinced myself that anyone else would get us killed. I stayed as low as I could, on the opposite side of the hallway from the puckering plastic, but it was nearly unbearable. I counted two doors and then swiped Wyrick\u2019s card.\n\nThe panel went green and the door slid open. I was about to find out what kind of man we were risking our lives to set free.\n\nto be continued \u2026","de_DE":"Psychologie ist Krieg. Du gehst in einen Raum, manchmal nach Wahl, manchmal, weil du verhaftet wurdest, weil du medizinische Versorgung von der Med Bay zur Krankenstation der Gefangenen umgeleitet hast, und sitzt dem Feind gegen\u00fcber, w\u00e4hrend sie alles tun, was sie k\u00f6nnen, um in deinen Kopf zu gelangen.\n\n\"Muss ich Sie daran erinnern\", fragte Cayla Wyrick, meine Psychologin, \"dass die Nichteinhaltung dieser Sitzungen ein Versto\u00df gegen die Vereinbarung ist, die Sie mit Captain Fieras getroffen haben, Sie aus einer vier mal vier Zellen fernzuhalten?\"\n\nSie hatte einen langen Hals und ein schmales, aber h\u00fcbsches Gesicht, das sie zum beliebtesten zivilen Auftragnehmer machte. Ihre blonden Locken waren kurz geschnitten, aber stilvoll gemacht, und ihr Make-up war makellos, als w\u00fcrde sie einen der eingesperrten Affen des OSP-4 wagen, etwas auszuprobieren. Sie war jung f\u00fcr einen Therapeuten, vor allem f\u00fcr einen stationierten Weg hier raus im Banshee-System.\n\n\"Ich verstehe nicht, warum Fieras auf diesen Sitzungen bestanden hat. Ich bin ein Schmuggler, kein Geisteskranker.\"\n\nSie kreuzte ihre Beine und lehnte sich in ihrem Stuhl zur\u00fcck. \"Und wenn ein Schmuggler alles w\u00e4re, was du w\u00e4rst, w\u00e4re ich mir sicher, dass er dich einfach gefeuert h\u00e4tte. Oder dich in eine Zelle geworfen. Aber du hast eine Vergangenheit, nicht wahr?\"\n\nIch nahm einen Schluck Eiswasser und stellte das Glas auf einen nahegelegenen Tisch. Es gab einen riesigen Videobildschirm hinter ihr, der eine Sternenlandschaft zeigte. In ein paar Stunden w\u00fcrde sich Lorona, der Planet, in dessen Lagrange-Punkt wir sa\u00dfen, unten rechts in Sichtweite begeben.\n\nNat\u00fcrlich hatte sie meine Akte gelesen. Sie hatte wahrscheinlich die Videos der feurigen Explosion gesehen, die das Leben meines Bruders gefordert hatte.\n\nIch \u00e4rgerte Danny, weil er so \u00f6ffentlich gestorben war. Wenn wir Bergleute in einem namenlosen Asteroideng\u00fcrtel gewesen w\u00e4ren, h\u00e4tte sich niemand um die Details gek\u00fcmmert. Aber wir waren Piloten, die besten und zweitbesten der Akademie, und als er gestorben war, musste ich die Medaille akzeptieren, die ihm geh\u00f6ren sollte, weil ich auf den Anzeigetafeln direkt hinter ihm gestanden hatte. Dieser einzelne Vorfall war zu einer Goldmine f\u00fcr die Kopfschrumpfer geworden, die ich in den Jahren seit dem Vorfall gesehen hatte. Jede Ma\u00dfnahme, die ich ergriffen habe, wurde als \u00dcberlebenssyndrom, oder als Twinless Twin Syndrom oder eine Reihe anderer Pers\u00f6nlichkeitsst\u00f6rungen bezeichnet. Nun, da ich mit der Hand in der Keksdose erwischt worden war, fielen Fieras und Wyrick in ihrer Eile \u00fcber sich selbst her, um es etwas anderes als das zu nennen, was es war: ein Verbrechen der Gier.\n\nIch wollte keine weitere Minute Therapie durchmachen. Ich w\u00fcrde meine Zeit lieber in einer Zelle verbringen.\n\n\"Wei\u00dft du, dass Rouge, das du tr\u00e4gst, Schmuggelware ist? Diese Typen benutzen das Pigment f\u00fcr Gef\u00e4ngnis-Tattoos. Oder tragt es. Du wei\u00dft schon. Es braucht alle Arten.\"\n\n\".... und ich denke, wir sind fertig f\u00fcr heute\", antwortete sie, klopfte ein paar Tasten auf den Notizblock und lie\u00df dann den Bildschirm dunkel werden.\n\nEin kleiner Blitz, wie jemand, der ein Streichholz in einem dunklen Raum anz\u00fcndet, zog meine Aufmerksamkeit auf den Bildschirm hinter ihr. Einer der Sterne begann sich zu bewegen. Es wuchs von einem Nadelstich zum Knopfloch und gewann exponentiell an Geschwindigkeit, bis es in der oberen rechten Ecke des Bildschirms abschoss und verschwand. Der ganze Prozess hatte vielleicht f\u00fcnf Sekunden gedauert, und es dauerte etwas l\u00e4nger, bis ich herausgefunden hatte, was ich sah.\n\nIch st\u00fcrzte mich bei Wyrick von meinem Stuhl. Mein Gewicht fing sie in der Schulter ein und kippte ihren Stuhl um. Einen Herzschlag sp\u00e4ter zitterte die Station heftig und die Lichter flackerten, bevor sie erloschen. Ein Hauch von \u00fcberhitzter Luft blies von der Abdeckung des L\u00fcftungsschlitzes der Klimaanlage, aus dem Flammen schossen und das abgedunkelte B\u00fcro mit Oranget\u00f6nen kurz bemalten. Notleuchten im Sockel jeder Wand gingen an und wir konnten wieder sehen, wenn auch nur schwach.\n\nIch rollte von ihr weg und ging auf die Knie. Zu ihrer Ehre sagte sie kein Wort dar\u00fcber, dass ich sie niedergeschlagen habe. \"Was ist passiert?\" fragte sie stattdessen.\n\n\"Wir wurden von einer Rakete getroffen\", sagte ich. \"Mindestens eine. Aus irgendeinem Grund ist unsere automatische Verteidigung nicht online gegangen, um den Angriff zu verhindern.\"\n\nDie Notbeleuchtung wechselte von rot auf gelb und blinkte mit einem Muster, das auf die T\u00fcr hinweist. Eine harmlose, computergenerierte Stimme sprach von \u00fcberall auf einmal. \"Lieutenant Cayla Wyrick, als rangh\u00f6chster Offizier an Bord von Orbital Supermax Prison 4, haben Sie jetzt das Kommando. Bitte folgen Sie den gelben Ampeln zum Auxiliary Command Deck.\"\n\n\"Lieutenant Wyrick?\" sagte ich sarkastisch zur\u00fcck zum Computer. \"Das ist ihre Gehaltsstufe, nicht ihr Rang!\"\n\nZivile Auftragnehmer wurden in gleicher H\u00f6he wie das Milit\u00e4r bezahlt. Wyrick war offensichtlich ein OS-9, was bedeutete, dass sie genauso bezahlt wurde wie ein Leutnant. Aber das war nicht das Gleiche wie ein Lieutenant zu sein. Sie konnte keine Befehle geben oder gar begr\u00fc\u00dft werden. Der Computer hatte einen Fehler gemacht, und es dauerte nicht lange, bis ich erkannte, was das noch bedeutete. Wir wurden mit chirurgischer Pr\u00e4zision angegriffen. Jeder mit einem echten Rang war bereits tot.\n\nWyrick warf den Notizblock auf ihren Schreibtisch und klopfte auf die Sternenlandschaft, bis sie sich in einer Karte der Station aufl\u00f6ste. Gr\u00fcne Abschnitte waren unbesch\u00e4digt, gelb bedeutete, dass wir eine nicht t\u00f6dliche Verunreinigung auf diesem Deck erlitten hatten, und rot bedeutete, dass wir das Budget f\u00fcr Gef\u00e4ngnisnahrung sicher reduzieren konnten. Da war eine Menge Rot.\n\nWyricks Finger tanzten \u00fcber den Videobildschirm. \"Kommando, Technik, Med Bay... sie sind alle offline.\"\n\nIch schloss mich ihr am Bildschirm an. \" Darf ich?\"\n\nSie starrte mich an und gab dann widerwillig ihre \u00dcberbr\u00fcckungscodes ein. Ohne Zeit zu verschwenden, tauschte ich zur\u00fcck in die Sternenlandschaft und zoomte dann so weit wie m\u00f6glich auf die Quelle dieser Raketen zu. Es brauchte nicht viel zu scrollen, um ein kleines Sportboot zu finden, das hastig modifiziert worden war, um riesige Raketenablagen aufzunehmen. Mehrere weitere K\u00e4mpfer flogen in enger Formation in die N\u00e4he. Ein gr\u00f6\u00dferes Schiff befand sich hinter ihnen, aber die begrenzte Vergr\u00f6\u00dferung der Station gab ihr einen pixeligen Blick und ich konnte nicht genau erkennen, was es war. Pl\u00f6tzlich wurde das Bild von etwas so Gro\u00dfem verdeckt, dass es ebenfalls verpixelt wurde. Ein K\u00e4mpfer vielleicht, der ganz in der N\u00e4he des Bahnhofs vorbeikommt. Und auch keine der UEE's.\n\nIch versuchte es mit den Notfallkan\u00e4len, aber alles, was ich h\u00f6rte, war das langweilige Rauschen von Statik \u00fcber alle Wellenl\u00e4ngen hinweg. Wir wurden gest\u00f6rt. \"Piraten. Ich wei\u00df nicht, was sie hier machen, aber es kann nicht gut sein.\"\n\n\"Ist es ein Gef\u00e4ngnisausbruch?\" fragte Wyrick.\n\n\"Vielleicht? Aber man sollte meinen, dass jeder, der eine kleine Flottille wert ist, sofort nach Kellog VI geflogen worden w\u00e4re\", sagte ich und meinte damit den ber\u00fcchtigten Gef\u00e4ngnisplaneten. Einrichtungen wie OSP-4 waren eigenst\u00e4ndige Gef\u00e4ngnisse, aber auch Verpflegungsstationen, provisorische Unterk\u00fcnfte, in denen Hochrisiko-H\u00e4ftlinge aus den Au\u00dfensystemen festgehalten werden konnten, bis sie nach Kellog VI verlegt wurden. \"Es k\u00f6nnte nur eine Razzia sein. Sobald ein Piratenpack zu gro\u00df wird, kann es sich nicht mehr auf die Pl\u00fcnderung durch den gelegentlichen Frachter st\u00fctzen. Eine solche Installation k\u00f6nnte ein verlockendes Ziel sein. Die Gefangenen sind nur ein zus\u00e4tzlicher Bonus. Oder sie sind entbehrlich, je nach den Launen der Piraten.\"\n\n\"Aber es gibt keine Verteidigung?\"\n\n\" Sicher.\" Als ehemaliger Quartiermeister des Gef\u00e4ngnisses war ich in der Lage, es besser zu wissen als jeder andere, der noch auf dem Revier lebte. Ich schlug das Flugdeck hoch. Tr\u00fcmmer schwebten in der Luft. Eine dunkle, menschlich geformte Silhouette trommelte tr\u00e4ge durch die Mikrogravitation. Ein schneller Scan markierte eine zerkl\u00fcftete Spalte im Rumpf. Die Dekompression war schnell und heftig gewesen, aber die beiden K\u00e4mpfer der Station waren noch auf ihren Pads. \"Sieht so aus, als h\u00e4tten wir nicht viel gek\u00e4mpft.\"\n\nEine dumpfe Vibration und dann ein Klopfen hallte durch das Deck rund um uns herum. Ich f\u00fchlte, wie mein Magen sich hob, als die Schwerkraft schwankte. Das omin\u00f6se Rauschen der Luft, die durch die L\u00fcftungs\u00f6ffnungen entweicht, war ein Zeichen daf\u00fcr, dass wir zu viel Schaden erlitten hatten, als dass die Systeme der Station repariert werden konnten, und das bedeutete, dass die Atmung ziemlich schnell schwierig werden w\u00fcrde.\n\n\"Wir m\u00fcssen los\", sagte ich.\n\nWiderwillig folgte sie mir durch die T\u00fcr und den Flur.\n\nDer Schaden war gr\u00f6\u00dfer, als ich dachte. Dr\u00e4hte stiegen von der Falldecke herab wie Dschungelr\u00e4nder, die Funken auf den Boden tropften. Die Luft roch nach Ozon und verbranntem Gummi und war unbehaglich hei\u00df, als ob ein Feuer nur unbemerkt brannte. Die Flure, durch die wir gingen, waren leer und dunkel, bis auf das gelegentliche Blitzen und Knistern der Kabel \u00fcber Kopf. Der Computer f\u00fchrte uns zum Aux Command, aber ich hatte einen anderen Plan. Stattdessen wandte ich mich dem Hochsicherheitsblock des Gef\u00e4ngnisses zu.\n\n\"Was machen wir hier?\", fragte sie. Wir standen vor einer roten Metallt\u00fcr mit einer Tastatur in der Mitte.\n\n\"Die Kommunikationssysteme sind ausgefallen und das bedeutet, dass es f\u00fcr uns keine M\u00f6glichkeit gibt, ein Notsignal zu senden. Wenn wir nicht Gl\u00fcck haben und uns jemand einen ungeplanten Gefangenentransfer schickt, k\u00f6nnen wir fr\u00fchestens in zwei Wochen Hilfe erwarten. Hier zu warten ist keine Option.\" Ich lasse meinen Ton eine zus\u00e4tzliche Bedeutung vermitteln. \"Besonders f\u00fcr dich.\"\n\nWyrick bewegte sich unbehaglich. \"Es gibt 1600 Gefangene und zweihundert Mitarbeiter an Bord dieser Einrichtung. Wir k\u00f6nnen sie nicht zur\u00fccklassen.\"\n\nIch erstickte meine Ver\u00e4rgerung. \"Du bist Therapeutin und ich bin Quartiermeisterin. Keiner von uns beiden ist ein Heldenmaterial. Es sind noch zwei K\u00e4mpfer auf dem Flugdeck. Wir k\u00f6nnen sie benutzen, um von dieser Station zu kommen und die UEE zu warnen.\"\n\nNicht \u00fcberzeugt sah sie zur T\u00fcr auf. \"Okay, aber was machen wir dann hier?\"\n\n\"Ich bekomme Heldenmaterial\", sagte ich mit einem Grinsen im Gesicht.\n\nIch hatte ein wenig zur\u00fcck gegraben, als ich anfing, Vorr\u00e4te f\u00fcr den Profit zu verlegen, nur f\u00fcr den Fall, dass ich jemals ein wenig Hilfe im Inneren brauchte, um schnell zu entkommen, und jedes offizielle Dokument, das ich in die H\u00e4nde legen konnte, sagte, dass der Kerl, den wir befreien wollten, der beste Pilot an Bord war. Er war Ex-Milit\u00e4r, also wurden die meisten der Akten, die ich gefunden hatte, redigiert, aber ich hatte eine Liste von Medaillen gefunden, die er erhalten hatte, und die einzigen, die er nicht hatte, waren die, die man bekam, um eine Kugel zu bekommen.\n\nDas \u00d6ffnen der Hochsicherheitst\u00fcr war wie das \u00d6ffnen eines Ofens. Ein Hauch von \u00fcberhitzter Luft verbrannte mein Gesicht und ich sah unwillk\u00fcrlich weg. Im Gang waren keine Flammen zu sehen, aber ein Teil der Kunststoffblende an den W\u00e4nden r\u00fclpste und verzogen sich.\n\n\"Gib mir deine Karte\", sagte ich mit einer Handbewegung.\n\n\"Nylund\", sagte Wyrick, \"man kann nicht....\"\n\nIch nickte den Gang hinunter. \"Keine Sorge, ich komme wieder. Ich werde da nicht durchkommen.\"\n\n\"Das meinte ich nicht\", antwortete sie, gab mir aber trotzdem die Karte.\n\nMein Instinkt sagte mir, ich solle nicht reingehen. Die Hitze war zu stark, die Luft war nicht atmungsaktiv, so etwas in der Art. Ich ignorierte sie. Ich h\u00e4tte vielleicht einen anderen Piloten finden k\u00f6nnen, aber dieser Kerl war der Beste und ich hatte mich davon \u00fcberzeugt, dass uns jemand anderes umbringen w\u00fcrde. Ich blieb so tief wie ich konnte, auf der gegen\u00fcberliegenden Seite des Flurs vom verziehenen Plastik, aber es war fast unertr\u00e4glich. Ich z\u00e4hlte zwei T\u00fcren und zog dann Wyricks Karte.\n\nDas Panel wurde gr\u00fcn und die T\u00fcr schob sich auf. Ich war dabei herauszufinden, welche Art von Mann wir unser Leben riskieren w\u00fcrden, um frei zu werden.\n\nwird fortgesetzt.....","zh_CN":"Psychology is war. You walk into a room, sometimes by choice, sometimes because you\u2019ve been busted for diverting medical supplies from Med Bay to the prisoners\u2019 infirmary, and sit across from the enemy while they do everything they can to get inside your head.\n\n\u201cDo I need to remind you,\u201d asked Cayla Wyrick, my psychologist, \u201cthat failure to comply with these sessions is a violation of the agreement you made with Captain Fieras to keep you out of a four by four cell?\u201d\n\nShe had a long neck and a narrow, but pretty face that made her everyone\u2019s favorite civilian contractor. Her blonde locks were cut short, but stylishly done, and her makeup was immaculate, like she was daring any one of OSP-4\u2019s caged monkeys to try something. She was young for a therapist, especially one stationed way out here in the Banshee system.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t understand why Fieras insisted on these sessions. I\u2019m a smuggler, not a mental patient.\u201d\n\nShe crossed her legs and sat back in her chair. \u201cAnd if a smuggler was all you were, I\u2019m certain he would have simply fired you. Or thrown you in a cell. But you have a history, don\u2019t you?\u201d\n\nI took a sip of ice water and put the glass on a nearby table. There was a huge vid screen behind her that showed a starscape. In a couple of hours, Lorona, the planet in whose Lagrange point we sat, would heave itself into view on the lower right.\n\nOf course she\u2019d read my file. She\u2019d probably watched the vids of the fiery explosion that had claimed my brother\u2019s life.\n\nI resented Danny for dying so publicly. If we\u2019d been miners in some nameless asteroid belt, no one would have cared about the details. But we\u2019d been pilots, best and second-best at the Academy, and when he\u2019d died I\u2019d had to accept the medal that should have been his, because I\u2019d been right behind him on the scoreboards. That single incident had become a gold mine for the head shrinkers I\u2019d seen in the years since the incident. Any action I took was labelled survivor\u2019s syndrome, or twinless twin syndrome, or any number of other personality disorders. Now that I\u2019d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, Fieras and Wyrick were falling over themselves in their rush to call it something other than what it was: a crime of greed.\n\nI didn\u2019t want to go through another minute of therapy. I\u2019d rather spend my time in a cell.\n\n\u201cYou know that blush you\u2019re wearing is contraband? These guys use the pigment for prison tattoos. Or wear it. You know. It takes all kinds.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2026 and I think we\u2019re done for the day,\u201d she replied, tapping a few keys on the notepad and then letting the screen go dark.\n\nA small flash, like someone lighting a match in a dark room, attracted my attention to the screen behind her. One of the stars began to move. It grew from pinprick to buttonhole, gaining velocity exponentially until it shot off the top right corner of the screen and disappeared. The whole process had taken maybe five seconds, and it took me slightly longer than that to figure out what I was looking at.\n\nI launched myself out of my chair at Wyrick. My weight caught her in the shoulder and overturned her chair. A heartbeat later the station shook violently and the lights flickered before going out. A blast of super-heated air blew off the cover of the air conditioning vent and flames shot out of it, briefly painting the darkened office with shades of orange. Emergency lights in the base of each wall came on and we could see again, albeit dimly.\n\nI rolled away from her and got to my knees. To her credit she didn\u2019t say a word about my knocking her down. \u201cWhat happened?\u201d she asked instead.\n\n\u201cWe got hit by a missile,\u201d I said. \u201cAt least one. For some reason, our automatic defenses didn\u2019t come online to prevent the attack.\u201d\n\nThe emergency lights changed from red to yellow and flashed a pattern that indicated the door. An inoffensive, computer-generated voice spoke from everywhere at once. \u201cLieutenant Cayla Wyrick, as the highest ranking officer on board Orbital Supermax Prison 4, you are now in command. Please follow the yellow lights to the Auxiliary Command Deck.\u201d\n\n\u201cLieutenant Wyrick?\u201d I said sarcastically back to the computer. \u201cThat\u2019s her paygrade, not her rank!\u201d\n\nCivilian contractors were paid on the same scale as the military. Wyrick was obviously an OS-9, which meant she got paid the same as a lieutenant. But that wasn\u2019t the same thing as actually being a lieutenant. She couldn\u2019t give orders, or even be saluted. The computer had made a mistake, and it didn\u2019t take me long to realize what else that meant. We\u2019d been attacked with surgical precision. Everyone with any real rank was already dead.\n\nWyrick threw the notepad onto her desk and tapped on the starscape until it dissolved into a map of the station. Green sections were undamaged, yellow meant that we\u2019d suffered a non-lethal holing on that deck, and red meant that we could safely cut the prison food budget. There was a lot of red.\n\nWyrick\u2019s fingers danced across the vidscreen. \u201cCommand, Engineering, Med Bay \u2026 they\u2019re all offline.\u201d\n\nI joined her at the screen. \u201cMay I?\u201d\n\nShe glared at me, then reluctantly keyed in her override codes. Without wasting any time, I swapped back to the starscape and then zoomed in as far as I could on the source of those missiles. It didn\u2019t take much scrolling to find a small pleasure craft that had been hastily modified to accept huge missile racks. Several more fighters flew nearby in close formation. A larger ship lurked behind them, but the station\u2019s limited magnification gave it a pixelated look and I couldn\u2019t quite make out what it was. Suddenly, the image was obscured by something so large that it too was pixelated. A fighter maybe, passing very close to the station. And not one of the UEE\u2019s either.\n\nI tried the emergency channels but all I heard was the dull hiss of static across all wavelengths. We were being jammed. \u201cPirates. I don\u2019t know what they\u2019re doing here, but it can\u2019t be good.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it a prison break?\u201d asked Wyrick.\n\n\u201cMaybe? But you\u2019d think that anyone worth a small flotilla would have been flown immediately to Kellog VI,\u201d I said, meaning the infamous prison planet. Installations like OSP-4 were prisons in their own right, but also feeding stations, temporary lodgings where high-risk prisoners from the outer systems could be held, pending transfer to Kellog VI. \u201cIt might just be a raid. Once a pirate pack gets too big they can\u2019t sustain themselves on plunder from the occasional freighter. An installation like this might be a tempting target. The prisoners are just an added bonus. Or they\u2019re expendable, depending on the whims of the pirates.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut aren\u2019t there defenses?\u201d\n\n\u201cSure.\u201d As the prison\u2019s former quartermaster I was in a better position to know than anyone else still alive on the station. I punched up the flight deck. Debris floated in the air. A dark, human-shaped silhouette tumbled lazily through the micro-gravity. A quick scan highlighted a jagged gash in the hull. Decompression had been swift and violent, but the station\u2019s two fighters were still on their pads. \u201cLooks like we didn\u2019t put up much of a fight.\u201d\n\nA dull vibration and then a thump echoed through the deck all around us. I felt my stomach lift as gravity fluctuated. The ominous hiss of air escaping through the vents was a sign that we\u2019d suffered too much damage for the station\u2019s systems to patch, and that meant that breathing was going to get difficult pretty quickly.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ve gotta go,\u201d I said.\n\nReluctantly, she followed me out the door and down the hall.\n\nThe damage was more extensive than I thought. Wires descended from the drop-ceiling like jungle vines, dripping sparks onto the floor. The air smelled of ozone and burnt rubber and was uncomfortably hot, as if a fire raged just out of sight. The hallways we passed through were empty and dim, except for the occasional flash and sizzle from the wiring overhead. The computer was guiding us to Aux Command, but I had a different plan. Instead I turned aside to the prison\u2019s Maximum Security block.\n\n\u201cWhat are we doing here?\u201d she asked. We stood in front of a red, metal door with a keypad at its center.\n\n\u201cThe comm systems are down and that means there\u2019s no way for us to send a distress signal. Unless we get lucky and someone sends us an unscheduled prisoner transfer, the earliest we can expect help is two weeks from now. Waiting here is not an option.\u201d I let my tone convey an additional meaning. \u201cEspecially for you.\u201d\n\nWyrick shifted uncomfortably. \u201cThere are 1600 prisoners and two hundred staff members aboard this facility. We can\u2019t leave them behind.\u201d\n\nI stifled my aggravation. \u201cYou\u2019re a therapist and I\u2019m a quartermaster. Neither of us is hero material. There are two fighters still on the flight deck. We can use them to get off this station and warn the UEE.\u201d\n\nUnconvinced, she looked up at the door. \u201cOkay, but then what are we doing here?\u201d\n\n\u201cGetting hero material,\u201d I said with a smirk on my face.\n\nI\u2019d done a little digging back when I\u2019d started \u2018misplacing supplies for profit\u2019 just in case I ever needed a little inside help to make a quick escape, and every official document I could lay my hands on said that the guy we were about to liberate was the best damned pilot aboard. He was ex-military, so most of the files I\u2019d found were redacted, but I\u2019d found a list of medals he\u2019d received and pretty much the only ones he didn\u2019t have were the ones you got for taking a bullet.\n\nOpening the Maximum Security door was like opening an oven. A blast of superheated air seared my face and I looked away involuntarily. There weren\u2019t any flames visible in the passageway, but some of the plastic fascia on the walls burped and puckered.\n\n\u201cGive me your card,\u201d I said with a wave of my hand.\n\n\u201cNylund,\u201d said Wyrick, \u201cyou can\u2019t \u2026\u201d\n\nI nodded down the passageway. \u201cDon\u2019t worry, I\u2019ll be back. I\u2019m not escaping through that.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s not what I meant,\u201d she replied, but gave me the card anyway.\n\nMy instincts were telling me not to go in. The heat was too intense, the air wasn\u2019t breathable, that kind of thing. I ignored them. I might have been able to find another pilot, but this guy was the best and I\u2019d convinced myself that anyone else would get us killed. I stayed as low as I could, on the opposite side of the hallway from the puckering plastic, but it was nearly unbearable. I counted two doors and then swiped Wyrick\u2019s card.\n\nThe panel went green and the door slid open. I was about to find out what kind of man we were risking our lives to set free.\n\nto be continued \u2026"},"links_count":0,"comment_count":128,"created_at":"2014-07-04T00:00:00+00:00","created_at_human":"11 years ago"},"meta":{"processed_at":"2026-05-08 10:14:43","valid_relations":["images","links"],"prev_id":13998,"next_id":14000}}