With a creak and then a squeal, the hatch was ripped clean off and sand began to pour into the open chamber. The wind was picking up.
"Good job Isobel," a man called into the pilot's radio, his voice tinged with anticipation.
Isobel nodded in the confines of her Grizzly as she watched the v-engine's hydraulic readouts level back out. The extra torque the Grizzly powertrain generated made it perfect for salvage and engineering jobs.
"Carter," she replied, "what the hell is this place?"
"Don't know yet, but I have a hunch," the man replied as he climbed around the hole in the desert sand, "it's clear," he nodded, turning to a group of men behind him and waved them over.
Five minutes later, Isobel and her heavy gear were the only ones not in the hole in the sand.
"Boss, what is this place?" someone asked, slightly awe-struck.
The team of six salvagers walked down metal corridors and opened bulkheads with crowbars or laser torches, where required.
Carter kept quiet. If he was right, then this find was going to make him rich.
****
"A little more recent than I would have hoped," Carter replied over the comm grimly. The find was a bad omen.
"Alright," he swallowed. Safety first, "get what we can, and then we're gone," he flicked the comm channel to Isobel, "Ready the demo charge."
From inside the Grizzly, Isobel nodded. She had a picture up on her holodisplay, taken by her gear not two minutes ago. It was of the bulkhead surrounding the hole in the desert. Enough sand had poured away to reveal a cross in a circle: the symbol of the Colonial Expeditionary Force.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Interlude 1
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