She awoke in a warm darkness, swaying slightly in a cushioned hammock strung between two apple trees. There was no sound: no wind, no animals, no insects; a calm that had once been reserved for only the dead and the deaf. The sole separation between the sleeping and waking worlds were the white points of starlight spread in the void above. Her eyes drifted from star to star before slowly shutting again. For several quiet moments she lay still. Then she shifted, and turned, and finally sat up in the hammock, causing it to drift forward and backward. Her eyes narrowed. There was an extra star.

"Spacecraft detected. No life aboard," she jumped at the noise, and nearly fell out of the hammock as she stood.

"Lights on," she commanded, pulling a tan jacket over her shoulders. Bright white lights immediately began illuminating the orchard. The room housed two dozen fruit trees and a host of various spice, vegetable, and flowering plants that she rushed past on her way to the exit on the far end of the room. From there she continued down a hallway, now at a full run, and slid to a stop in the empty command room at the hall's end. Its walls, like all of the walls of the ship, were in fact high resolution screens, a sleek white when powered off, yet capable of providing light, displaying information, or even appearing completely transparent.

Panicked commands began to pour from her mouth. "Ensure shield integrity, and magnify the craft's image onto the screen." A small green light blinked to life next to status readout on a nearby wall. An instant later the wall appeared to be transparent, providing a view of space identical to what she had seen in the orchard. The image zoomed rapidly toward the unknown point of light, and for several seconds it still seemed no different than a nearby star or planet. But finally the view settled on the figure of a small white fighter craft, built with two wings and a four gun array, and marked with the distinct red insignia of the Confederation Police.

She allowed herself to drop with a sigh into the tall chair behind her, one of the room's only furnishings next to a bookshelf in the corner. "A police craft?" The green light changed to orange as she spoke. "Is it reported as missing?" The light blinked green.

"It is not reported as missing or stolen according to the most recent police record stored onboard," replied the computer.

"And when was that record last updated?"

"Three months ago, when we departed from Marsonovo,"

"Request an update from the nearest police outpost, and be sure to transmit our location when you do," The light blinked green. "While you're at it, send a signal to the Police craft. See if you can find out why it's out here." A moment passed in silence.

"Instant transmission failed. The craft is jamming the instant transmission system. Radio signaling is functional, but no reply was received,"

She stood from the chair, startled. "You're sure there's no one onboard?"

"Yes. No one alive is onboard," responded the computer calmly.

"Is someone dead onboard?"

"Unknown.

"What are our chances in fighting this craft?"

"Unknown." As if on cue the craft's gun array shifted into combat position and its rear engines began to glow a pale blue.

"Take control of the ship. Act only in defense." She had scarcely given the order when a dozen rockets detached from the sides of the police vessel, travelling with such speed they appeared to simply have vanished. Next, the police craft's guns began to fire, counteracting the force of its engines and pinning it in place at a distance of one thousand kilometers. Even through the artificial gravity she felt her own ship sharply accelerate, causing her to stumble backwards into the chair. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a blinding red burst from one of the police rockets. She was standing and steadying herself when the second rocket burst nearby, stinging her eyes. The third exploded a moment later, even closer to the craft. She couldn't see anything by the time the fourth struck. The ship shook violently and she was thrown to the ground; a terrible sound resonated through the hull of the ship itself. Her vision was beginning to return, but the room had been plunged into darkness; through the ringing in her ears she heard a warning alarm sounding.

"Status," she called dumbly; her nose was bleeding. "Status!" she repeated, struggling to stand. All the wall displays were offline and she was alone in complete black. Then the ship turned sharply, avoiding some rocket or gunfire perhaps, and she was thrown into the corner of the room where the wall met the ceiling. By the time she fell back to the floor she had already passed out. The bookshelf crashed on top of her.

When she awoke the command room was bathed in a dark red light, and she was floating in the middle of it in a slow spin. Small spheres of blood had pooled out of her injuries and were floating as though in orbit around her. Splayed books and wooden fragments of the bookshelf were suspended around her, mostly still. She desperately tried to move to the floor to no avail, growing more panicked with each passing moment. She began to writhe and wave her limbs about, but a terrible pain in her left arm stopped her flailing. She paused for a moment to collect herself, then, taking a deep breath through her mouth she looked around herself for anything in reach. The closest item was a book, but when she grasped for it it struck her fingertips and drifted out of reach. She took another deep breath. The chair was on its side near the floor, some feet below her. After a few moments' thought she gingerly removed her jacket and tossed it toward the ceiling, as it moved away, she began moving very slowly toward the floor. When the chair was close enough she kicked off of it, propelling herself toward a panel near the exit. There she managed to wedge herself against the floor.

"Computer, restart non-essential systems." There was no response. She groaned and pried open the wall panel. Manually interfacing with the computer was difficult with her right hand, but she managed. Lighting and artificial gravity reset simultaneously, resulting in a bright flash and sudden jolt as all the objects in the room fell into place. She shuddered, remembering the rocket bursts. As the final systems reset she stood and walked over to where her jacket had fallen, picking it up to tie into a sling around her broken arm.

"Status?" she asked hesitantly.

"All systems online and operational. Hostile craft destroyed. Multiple hardware diagnoses are in progress," She began walking toward the exit, then stopped.

"Pressure?"

"All rooms are pressurized correctly," she smiled and stepped into the hall. "Contact an Appraiser and the nearest Confederation Police Outpost," The computer quietly beeped twice as she entered the medical room. The room, which doubled as a kitchen, was jostled but fortunately undamaged. She lied down on a thin beige examination table and began to strap on an anesthetic mask when an authoritative voice interrupted over the speakers. She sat up and quickly removed the mask.

"This is the correspondent from the police outpost at Porta Novae, I repeat, what is the nature of your call?"

"I stumbled upon a police cruiser parked in empty space, with no life onboard. Its automated defense system must have engaged, and it-" The man interrupted with a low sound from the back of his throat.

" - I'm not detecting any of our cruisers in our vicinity, can you verify your claim?" Her brow furrowed slightly.

"I can patch a video feed to you," she answered slowly. "Anyway, the craft opened fire on my ship and very nearly killed me; I expect to be compensated for this incident."

The man's tone became immediately hostile, "Technically, you have no right to any compensation; your claim can't even be verified; for all we know you've staged this event."

"An Appraiser has already been called, if you'd prefer I can work exclusively through them," She couldn't help but smile as a frightened silence came over the man. She began to think the call had ended when a younger, more cheerful voice spoke out,

"Sorry for any inconvenience; I hear you've found an abandoned police vessel? And it attacked your ship? Could you transmit a copy of your ship's activity log; we have your video feed here, thank you for that . . ." She gestured vaguely in the affirmative and eased back onto the examination table; the computer beeped.

"Okay, thank you. Please remain at your location, a craft has been dispatched and should arrive in about half an hour. In what form would you wish your compensation to be?"

"Confederate credits are fine," she responded, closing her eyes.

"One hundred thousand credits are now yours to spend, thank you for your service."

The transmission ended with a click, and she was soon dreaming.