“Hopper, what was that?”

 

“Most systems are offline, Ma’am. Comms, Navigation, Propulsion—"

 

“If Comms is out, how are we talking?”

 

“Onboard communication is separate. We’ve been hit. I—”

 

“Any areas of the ship I should not go?”

 

“Cargo bay’s been breached. Hull repair protocol activated.”

 

She had trained in simulations with both engines out — this felt different. She was floating on handholds in the dark when the ship pulsed red.

 

“Emergency power is up.”

 

Asteroid belt mining is dangerous, but the only hazard in getting regolith back to Mars is supposed to be boredom. She was captain of a ship of one, plus a well-mannered AI: enough for her.

 

In the muted red glow, the stars seemed brilliant, comforting even, an odd feeling while staring at infinity. For the past five voyages she had been considering giving up the emptiness and silence, but how do you give up nothing?

 

“Still no control of major systems. We’re burning fuel; we were hit during a course correction. Cargo hull is sealed.”

 

“Fix Propulsion first.”

 

A screeching sound came up from the stern, where the rock was stored.

 

“Hopper?”

 

“One moment.”

 

She didn’t recognize the alarm. “HOPPER.”

 

“Ma’am, that’s not a ship’s alarm.”

 

“It SOUNDS like a ship’s alarm.”

 

“Agreed, Ma’am. Just not our ship.”

 

She headed to cargo. “Notify me as systems return.”

 

At the cargo bay entrance, she heard rumbling rock — an inner cargo wall was breached too.

 

“Hopper, with the ship spinning, is it possible that the hull repair won’t hold?”

 

“Affirmative.”

 

She raced to put on her EVA suit, returned, and went through the inner and outer airlocks. Debris was everywhere. Pinned into a crushed inner wall truss was a screaming banshee: a capsule.

 

I hope this isn’t a weapon.

 

“Navigation is back.”

 

“Where are we?”

 

“Heading off the solar ecliptic, towards the outer Oort cloud.”

 

“Can you see this?”

 

“Affirmative.”

 

“Thoughts?”

 

“Ma’am, I can’t get meaningful telemetry on the object; no useful sensors in cargo spaces.”

 

“Okay. Get Propulsion back, and… ready the escape pod.”

 

“Affirmative.”

 

I am hearing an alarm. It’s manufactured. The alarm started after the hull was sealed.

 

“Hopper, open an external hatch to let the air out.”

 

“Negative; with you in cargo, that requires a safety override I don’t currently have access to.”

 

“Then pump all the air out.”

 

"Affirmative."

 

As the cargo oxygen reading on her helmet display dipped below 2%, the screaming stopped.

 

So much for Fermi’s Paradox.

 

The device was conical; about 30 meters by 20, narrowing to about 10 meters; not a scratch on the shell, no sign of a propulsion system, no markings.

 

Indistinguishable from magic.

 

Floating above the capsule, she slowly reached out her arm to touch, then froze.

 

Just because I can’t see anything doesn’t mean…

 

She put her palms up and spread her fingers. I hope any life form smart enough to put this into space will recognize empty hands.

 

“Hopper, how many beacons does this tub carry?”

 

“Two target, two hull-attached.”

 

“With Navigation back, can you aim the target beacons with some confidence that they will get close to their targets?”

 

“Affirmative.”

 

“Record everything you see here, and load feeds to all beacons. The instant anything looks like it’s going south, fire off target beacons to Ceres and Deimos.”

 

“Ma’am, odds of success—”

 

“Don’t tell me. Just get Propulsion back.”

 

Hooking a boot to a wall brace, keeping her palms up, she slowly lowered her right hand. She tapped the surface twice with her thumb and backed away. Nothing; she repeated the movements.

 

On the third attempt, the device rocked, slowly, back and forth.

 

I hope that’s not an arming sequence.

 

Repeating the tapping sequence, the rocking of the vessel — she thought of it as a vessel now — also repeated.

 

Piloted?

 

She floated free of the wall. The vessel, with a barely perceptible wriggle, pulled out of the grasp of the truss, and spun, ever so slowly, so that the narrow end faced her helmet. An instant like an eternity, floating together.

 

She extended her arms and legs, and pushed against a large boulder to spin around; the red teardrop below her mimicked her movements. When she dodged a chunk of rock, the vessel moved away, towards the hull. Stopping at the outer hull patch, it spun around twice more, then punched back out into space, the way it came in.

 

“Hopper, call the hull-bots back — the breach reopened.”

 

“Affirmative. Ma’am, I have Propulsion back; we’re engines off.”

 

“Can we get back to Ceres or Mars?”

 

“Not before life support runs out. We burned a lot of fuel going the wrong way.”

 

“Which is closer?”

 

“Ceres, but we’ll need more fuel to maneuver in the Belt.”

 

“Can we reach Comms range?”

 

“Comms are still out; all we have are the beacons.”

 

“Do we get within beacon range on the fuel we have?”

 

“Negative.”

 

“What if we drop the cargo?”

 

“Yes, but I am required to remind you penalties apply to dropped cargo. Also, I still lack control over Docking — cargo release will require an EVA.”

 

“Aim for Mars; more eyes in a less crowded sky. Let me know when course corrections are done.”

 

She watched the gape in the hull slowly blink shut, closing off space again: a cauterized wound.

 

Pummeled, not crippled.

 

Heading back to the suit locker to refill her oxygen for EVA, she tried to close off the memory of what she just witnessed. Increasing the odds of getting home was all that mattered now.

 

“Course correction com—”

 

The ship bolted.

 

“HOPPER!”

 

“One moment.”

 

“What happened to conserving fuel?”

 

“Ma’am. That wasn’t me. We just got a small, well, push in the right direction.”

 

“How small?”

 

“I’m estimating a trip bonus for fuel conservation that should more than cover all voyage expenses.”

 

She smiled. Maybe scow-surfing wasn’t such a bad gig after all. Especially now, with the universe a little smaller.