The bullet-shaped lifeboat lie wedged and motionless in a grasp of broken earth as the trio cautiously approached.
Dimensional winds had scarred its sides, its ceremonial paint boiled away and its identification markings smeared with the omnicarbons left behind by transshift frictions. Whatever capital ship spat out this surviving craft it left no evidence of ownership. Nonetheless, the very shape of the thing, with its sculpted face of an open-mouthed celestial at its nose and her wings sweeping aftward toward the vessel’s transshift engines, was proof enough of her origins.
The Royal Navy of the Imperial Magistrate.
One of the trio inspected an embedded display near the seam of an obvious hatch. After nodding confidently at it, he stood and rendered an open palmed salute.
“Politruk Blinov, I identify one life form present inside.”
Though there was no obvious difference in physical stature between them all, one seemed to stand taller than the other two. He nodded and pulled the visor of his black and red crimson cap down over his moist brow.
“I have been advised of the desires of the Ministry and as one gifted to speak on its behalf... I command you to open it.”
The hatch popped forcefully toward the Party’s technician and slid violently to the side as pressurized air hissed and rolled out from inside like a dragon’s guttural belch. Pink ooze, thick and biological in appearance spilled out onto the ground they stood upon, quickly overcoming the polished black leather toes of the Politruk’s boots. His stomach rolled lazily, and he felt an unwelcome taste at the back of his mouth.
Once cleared of the life supporting embryonic bath fluid and gasses, the finders of this lifeboat were clearly able to see their guest for the first time.
At first he simply sat there, catching his breath, barely giving his hosts a sideways glance. Silently, but with much effort, he swung himself about in the lifeboat’s harnesses and let his stained boots touch ground for the first time in… well he didn’t quite know how long it had been.
His right hand reached up as the trio watched him and tossed back the bangs of his life-supporting embryonic fluid soaked hair. His hand came back down and inexplicably found its way to a twisted roll of earthen tobacco which he promptly jammed between his teeth.
With a grin, the occupant of the lifeboat beheld his hosts with a glimmering, world-weary look as if he were the only person in the multiverse to get an unspoken joke.
“The Imperial Magistrate is dead. Long live the Imperial Magistrate,” Captain Livingston Chance declared behind the curdling smoke of his cigarette.