There was a twitch of limbs, and a hand pushed some of the hair away. A few indecipherable words escaped the stained mouth, and she tried to twist around again. With an muttered curse at her the pilot returned to the cockpit, realising that his passenger wasn‘t going to be able to move herself in zero gravity.
A quick touch of the controls fired the underside manoeuvring thruster into action, and the Gecko started to accelerate upwards relative to itself. In the gravity-controlled parts of the ship the movement was not noticeable, but it provided a little force in the entrance area.
He returned to find the woman slumped on what was now the floor. She raised her head to stare at him with bleary eyes.
”Get out of there,• he ordered, his fist clenched about his gun. When she stayed where she was the pilot muttered a curse. He jabbed his firearm in her direction, then waved it aside.
"Sod you," he complained. "You can't stay there forever, and you owe me some answers. If I'm not getting any I'll lock you in there for the rest of the journey, and turn you over to the first person who asks. So come on, get up!"
Arms pushed her body up. A grimace, then a look of surprise as she moved easily in the low gravity. She slowly gained her feet. Her feet shuffled along the floor, one hand pressed against the wall to try to keep herself steady in the unfamiliar environment. The pilot backed away and returned the gun towards her, but as she left the confines of the airlock and entered the part of the ship where more obscure physics produced weight she stumbled and sank to her knees.
Once again she was forced to struggle upwards, but this time she needed no prompting from the man, gritting her teeth and staring defiantly at him. They stood a few feet apart, the pilot standing tensely, the woman leaning against the wall, each watching the other cautiously and suspiciously.
"Fine," the man said at last. "That's enough pushing around. I don't give a damn about what you're involved in, because I don't want anything to do with it. Anyone who chases me for you can have you. If no- one does, you get off this ship as soon as we dock and never come anywhere near me again."
"What about the explanation you were after?" the woman snarled sarcastically.
The pilot shrugged that away. "Changed my mind. I really don't want to know." He took a couple of steps back and jammed a door panel with his free hand. There was a grind and screech of metal before a door suddenly jerked open. Beyond were the ship's living quarters, a dingy room that had certainly seen better days. The bare metal walls were smoke-stained in places, and the bunks simply shelves without any mattresses. A couple of lockers stood in the far wall, one with its door hanging open. In a few places bare wires protuded, probably where entertainment equipment had been ripped out. Another door, presumably leading to a bathroom, was shut tight. It all looked like it should smell as bad as it appeared, but at least the air scrubbers and filters seemed to be doing a good job.
"Stay in there," the pilot ordered. The woman took her weight off the wall and walked through the door without another glance towards her prisoner who was now her captor.
With her out of the way, the pilot returned to the bridge. finally taking time to examine the ship's controls in some detail. Designed as a single pilot craft, it didn't take him long to assess that the primary systems, at least, were fairly standard, enough for him to handle in normal circumstances without too much specific knowledge of this vessel. But these were not normal circumstances. Hostile encounters in space were depressingly common, even in his limited experience - they were what had, in his mind, ultimately led him to this mess, after all. Personal, face to face confrontations were less so, though, at least if you did your best to keep out of trouble when on station or planet.
Finally his curiosity once again got the better of him, as he remebered that most of the woman's possessions were still in the airlock. He didn't want to ask her, and he suspected would have no intention of telling the truth, if she said anything, but with a bit of luck she had brought some clues with her. It made sense to him to get at least a glimmer of an idea about what was going on, if it could be done without revealing that he might have learned something.
The upward thrust was still active; the airlock interior had settled down, and it was an unpleasant, messed up sight. Most of the objects lying lightly on the floor were immediately identifiable - the gun she had threatened him with, a small bag, lying flat, most of its contents already shaken out, and a few miscellaneous cards. There was also the thing that had caught his attention earlier, caught in a corner.
It was about two inches across, metallic, somewhere between bronze and gold in colour, with a couple of holes in one edge, with a fine chain dangling from it. There was no sign of any engraving on the face he could see; perhaps it was lying face down. Since it was spattered with the general detritus filling the small space the pilot reached out gingerly with the gun he still carried to hook the chain with the barrel. Holding it carefully in the low G he retreated to the bridge to examine it more closely.
On the bridge he dropped the pendant to the floor before he fetched a cup of water from a drinks dispenser to rinse off the mess quickly. Then he picked it up, and looked at it closely for the first time. A blank face; he flipped it over, and dropped it in surprise. Etched into the surface was a sign every spacer knew, but few ever carried, wings on an inverted triangle, a winged helm between them, and a word screaming trouble across the pattern - "ELITE".
This was what he had been pushed into? As if Qudira wasn't bad enough! An entanglement with Elite rated combateers would spell more than the mere loss of a ship, and they would find out soon enough who he was, and what he was now carrying. The Elite were few and far between, but not so far that they didn't hear about everything that happened to one of their members. As such, rumour had it, they formed loose clans, some preying on anyone, some wiping out those who preyed on anyone, and often there was fierce hatred between these clans. No matter that, any Elite pilot had friends somewhere, people who would aid or avenge them.
It seemed unlikely that the woman now safely locked away was such a person. He stooped to recover the pendant from the floor. Here was the evidence, though, sitting in the palm of his hand, shining dully in the bridge lights. The pilot considered the thought that he had never knowingly met an Elite rated pilot, and therefore had no idea what they would be like. With a starship as your weapon, you could be as physically and socially impressive, or otherwise, as you wanted, and it would make no difference. But you had to be brave to be Elite, and able to take instant and direct action in moments of crisis, that much was obvious, and his prisoner did not appear to be that type.
The pilot stepped up, turning to leave the bridge. He was still shaken, and guessed the woman was as well, but the adrenalin surge has died down. Perhaps it was time to get answers now.
He had only taken a couple of paces before the whooping of a klaxon from behind him chased him back to the commander's chair. The scanner ellipse was no longer empty, with a strong club now superimposed on it. Warning flashed on the screen - "THARGOID CRAFT IN AREA".
"Shit," was all he could utter, for here was something way beyond his ability to deal with. The screen showed the octagonal vessel stabilising after hyperspace exit, a cloud dispersing into space from around it. "Shit." It was beyond coincidence.