FFYL 66-75 (Patreon)

Fawn manages to sleep, somehow, through the radio chatter and even the noisy orgy that her mates are having. They SHOULD be getting sack time too, she half-thinks, drowsing when their carrying on gets particularly loud, but if they'd rather fondle each other through their pressure suits instead of getting priceless shuteye that's their stupid. Lt. Katarzyna maintains her lonely vigil, also tuning out the girls laughing and moaning behind her as she scans the transforming shadows of the asteroid field for any sign of their opposition. 

"Four do you have eyes?" The Captain asks from her position of relative safety back aboard the sub orbital. 

"Negative." She responds, eyes and sensors straining to make sense of the tumbling madness of the metal and stone maze that's collected in KV15's L5 point. The roiling vortex of wrecks, failed satellites, and high density nickel iron asteroids is merciless. A second's inattention to telemetry and any fast-mover in the zone becomes an instant smear. With so much rubbish floating around there's no way to move through the zone without using maneuvering thrusters, and that means anyone approaching the derelict vessel should be easy to spot.

"Five, eyes?" 

"Negative." Responds the squad to her galactic north, overwatching somewhere "above" her a few hundred meters away in the massive debris field. 

"Three, eyes?" 

"Negative." 

And so it goes, as it has gone for wearying days now. Deep within the ancient vessel the eggheads no doubt are having the time of their lives but outside the bored soldiergirls just watch their suits for punctures, scan the roiling perimeter, and try to get enough sleep and entertainment to keep from losing their minds. The fact that every now and again a tiny particle moving at lethal velocities takes one of them out does nothing for any of their nerves. Three girls killed by random pebbles and screws in as many days makes for a tense watch for any by the most actively psychotic. 

Which is why, Katarzyna thinks, so many of them, herself included, were probably scraped out of prisons back on Earth and Mars. Even more ex-cons than refugees, if she had to guess, and more of either than bored uni girls who didn't want to go into the regular service and couldn't score the minimums for a cushy position in the oversight sector. Just as well, she reflected. At least the ex prisoners and fugees knew what they'd go back to if they decided to walk away from their contracts. It kept them committed, unlike the uni girls that could always tell themselves they'd fall back into the service sector if they decided they didn't like the odds out here in the black... 

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