Derby Rigg arrived early to the International Space Station. To kill time, she walked its bustling main concourse.

The crowd made an eclectic mix. Business execs huddled around small tables, choking down breakfast as they discussed the day’s plans. Meandering tourists shopped for souvenirs. Annoyed residents darted past the visiting hordes.

Rigg felt annoyed too. She longed for the peace and solitude of deep space. Most of all, she dreaded the event that had brought her here.

At last she found an empty corner in an observation lounge and took comfort in a caramel macchiato.

Before long, an incoming message on her eyepiece said it was time.

Rigg finished her coffee and returned to the concourse, swimming upstream against the teeming masses until she reached the restricted area.

A thumbprint scanner gave her access. The crowd noise vanished as soon as the door closed. A security bot escorted her to the conference room.

“Captain Rigg, please come in,” said Admiral Ngura.

She had never met Ngura but knew him by reputation, which was one of fairness and honesty. On Ngura’s right was a lieutenant named Sterling.

On his left sat a civilian, some sort of labor rep they called Mr. Hedges. Rigg didn’t know why, but something about Hedges unsettled her.

“This inquiry will now come to order,” Ngura said for the record. “We are investigating the loss of the freighter Bezos. Today’s witness is Captain Derby Rigg of the Musk.”

A half-dozen League attorneys sat around the room, staring at the ceiling, multi-tasking.

“Captain Rigg,” the admiral continued. “We have read your incident report and reviewed your ship’s holo recordings. We just have some follow-up questions for you today.”

Rigg nodded and leaned forward, straightening her dress tunic.

“How much warning did you have before the attack?” he asked.

“No warning,” she replied. “The fighters appeared out of nowhere. They were on top of us instantly.”

“How did they manage to evade your long-range sensors?”

“I have no idea.”

“Did you observe their base ship?” asked Lieutenant Sterling.

Rigg shook her head.

“My first officer and I have discussed this at length,” she said. “We know those fighters must have had a carrier. But we never saw one, either visually or by sensor. We concluded that they were long-distance fighters.”

“Can you describe them for us?”

“Flat discs with a single-seat cockpit in the center. In addition to normal weapons, they carry an extremely effective cutting tool, which they use to breach hulls.”

“Captain Rigg,” began Hedges, “your report states that the fighters stopped attacking your ship and focused their efforts entirely on the Bezos. Why would that be?”

She thought for a moment. “I suspect they initially set out to capture both ships but had to change their plans because of our guns.”

“So why would they choose Captain Severin’s ship over yours?”

“As a newer, larger ship, the Bezos probably made a better prize.”

Hedges propped his elbows on the table. “Captain Severin was your friend?”

“I’ve known him since the academy.” She corrected herself. “Knew him.”

“You watched him die?”

“Yes.”

“How did that make you feel?”

Rigg hesitated. “Helpless. Angry.” Then she stiffened. “How would you feel?”

Hedges met her stare but said nothing. Silence fell between them.

The admiral cleared his throat. “I fear our questions have drifted beyond the scope of this inquiry. My apologies, Captain Rigg. Before we conclude, is there anything you wish to add?”

She sat back and scanned the room. Nobody looked at the ceiling now. All eyes were on her.

“Every time I encounter the marauders, they are more organized and better armed. They develop new tactics quickly, and they always seem to know my location. Worst of all, they are happy to kill.”

She stood. “And now they have a factory ship to build more fighters and weapons. So, whatever you people are planning, hurry the hell up.”