Tailor studied the empty air, his tactical light illuminating the wall opposite him with vivid precision. There was nothing there. Just the cold, whisping fog the environmental system was generating after weeks of neglect.

Tailor keyed his mic, “Sitrep.”

Sergeant Callan replied first. “Nothing, Cap’n. No sign of the crew.” The other members of the party reported the same findings. That is, they reported no findings. Tailor continued to watch the whisping vapors cautiously and eventually lowered his weapon.

“Copy all.” he said. “Expedite your route and proceed to main bridge.”

Tailor eyed the suspicious door one last time and moved down the corridor, his mass sending the fog swirling in his wake. He eyed the outboard wall he moved, catching glimpses of open space where the hull had been pierced, a thin energy field protecting him from the void.

Maybe the bridge computer would give him the information he needed. Something happened to the crew and Tailor needed a target to focus his building vengeance on.