The hopper’s thrust jets provided a low thrum of vibration. Mixed with the constant hum of the environmental system, and without reference to an exterior window, the calm white noise belied the ballistic trajectory of the vehicle. Abraham could feel it though. Falling through space at supersonic velocity towards the grey plane below was easily imagined when your stomach was in your throat. One of the reasons he never qualified for orbital work.

He checked his gear out of habit. The oxygen levels were good, his med kit was ready. He slung the strap of the Jaws of Life over his shoulder, and loaded himself up with an arsenal of life saving equipment, looking more like an armored soldier than an EMT.

“What’ve we got?” he called to Franck, his pilot.

“Small prospector out of Wallace went silent,” the pilot responded.

“That’s never good,” said Abraham.

“You’ve mastered the obvious, Sir. Brace yourself, we’re coming down.”

The thrusters kicked up fines around them, obscuring the landing site on the rill floor. The harsh white light of the early morning sun which had only just risen mixed with the red and blue of the emergency vehicle.

Franck locked it down, and they both cycled through the lock.

The dust settled slowly, and their suit lights pierced strongly, but no light came from the direction of the prospector that Franck was tracking via LPS. They made their way carefully though the shadows.

The prospector loomed up above them, its hard edges and sharp antennae easily distinguishable from the natural rock. Not a single LED. Power loss. What had caused it?

And what had caused the huge hole in the aft section?

Abraham keyed his transmitter. “Wallace, this is ET 226 reporting from Rima Bradley. We’re at the site. Initial assessment: explosion in the fuel section. We need a wrecker.”

“226, this is Wallace. Any chance of trying to help those guys out?”

“Sure, Wallace. You know our fee.” Abraham responded. “Are you willing to cover it?”

“Standby 226.” Abraham could already see Franck’s raised eyebrows as the silence went on for a few seconds. This was despite the fact that his face was completely obscured by his helmet. “Alright, 226. We’ll meet your fee. Provide aid. We are transferring the funds now.”

“Roger, Wallace, moving in.” Abraham’s HUD chirped, and he windowed over to find the company 600,000 Euros better off.  Martin would be pleased.

They moved to the cab and climbed up to the airlock. From the look of the seals, it had already been manually cycled.

“Someone got out?”

“I didn’t see anything in infrared,” replied Franck.

Abraham shrugged, a gesture lost amidst his mountain of suit and gear. “I guess we go in, then.”

They made their way through the cab to the hab section, where there would most likely find people. Hard, cold vacuum. There weren’t going to be any survivors.

But there weren’t any bodies either. They moved on to the lab section. Same thing.

The door to the cargo section was jammed. Abraham unshipped the Jaws and bent the heavy door open. His feet could feel the vibration of the metal as it groaned silently in the vacuum. He couldn’t help but imagine the clang as the thing hit the floor in the dark interior.

There were no survivors here either. But there were bodies, or at least pieces of bodies. There had been an explosion. It looked as though something had set off a chain reaction that had blown into the fuel cells. They hadn’t ignited, but the contents were under pressure, being almost fully charged. That had blown the big hole that was visible from the exterior.

Why were they all in the Cargo hold? Abraham looked down to step over a body part. A pair of hands, zip tied together.

He looked up at Franck, who had just seen the same thing. This had been no accident.

“Wallace, this is 226 you need to inform the UNSA. This is a crime scene. We found no survivors, and are exiting your vehicle. There will be no further transactions needed. Over and out.” He keyed over to Franck “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

They made their way back to the cab. Franck started cycling the lock. “Hold up,” called Abraham. “There could be someone out there.”

Franck’s mask mirrored Abraham’s own helmet. “Yeah, but I’d feel better meeting them out there than in here. Let’s get back to the hopper.”

The fines had settled back down in the rille, and a fresh blanket of them had been thrown over the area, completely obscuring any tracks that might have been made, including their own. But there was no one in sight either. They hustled back to the Hopper and fired it up.

The world seemed a bit more dangerous. The breakdown of the old space treaties had been inevitable, initially written with a mind to keep minor players from participating, and without teeth due to the US’s refusal to sign them. It was becoming a free for all, catch as catch can. Someone had hit that prospector with an eye to put it out of business. He counted himself lucky to belong to a Guild.