October 2025 Blog Hop – Satellite of Death

Well, it’s time again for the Quarterly Blog Hop, and this time I actually wrote something!

The Muse and I have been kicking around space opera story ideas. I wanted something reminiscent of the 1950s space opera vibe – noble and diligent Rangers bringing law and justice to a chaotic Universe, aerial dogfights in space, ray guns that go pew pew pew, devious and cunning villains, and an optimistic attitude that Right Will Prevail.

I’m not sure how close I got to that but I like what I came up with. Be sure to follow the links at the end to the other authors who wrote stories. Unfortunately only two others were able to get stories together in time but they are still worth a read.

And now, for your reading pleasure, I present …

Satellite of Death

Captain Jaxon Eidolon approached the station orbiting Rayaan, the distress beacon still broadcasting its weak signal. Nothing looked out of place. His superior, Commander Rejikvik, had sent him out here, but this seemed like a fairly routine mission. One of the junior officers could have done it. Talen would have been the best choice. He hated routine. Jaxon liked Talen but his need for excitement was going to get him into trouble one of these days. Giving Talen the routine assignments was his way of trying to get him to accept that his duty wasn’t all excitement and shootouts. Duty was also doing the jobs that had to be done, even if they were boring.

“Listen to yourself, old man. Do your duty and do the milk run.”

“Ranger Eidolon approaching Station Seven Nine Seven. Request docking clearance.” No reply came.

Jaxon repeated his call, answered only by silence. Something was very off about this situation.

“Fine, we do this the hard way.” He guided his ship, The Majestic Eagle, toward the docking bay. The doors were open, but the guiding lights dark.

He nudged his ship toward the bay. A high pitched whine mixed with static came over the comm channel.

“What the devil is going on?” Whatever the signal was it jammed his comm system. He’d heard reports of communications being disrupted all over the sector. Commander Rejikvik, had dismissed any concerns Jaxon had raised over the situation.

He’d always been loyal to the Space Rangers. He believed in their mission to bring justice and freedom to a chaotic Galaxy. Lately though, he was having doubts about the command structure. He started to wonder if he could trust Rejikvik and others in Galactic Patrol Central.

Jaxon set his ship down in the bay. He’d have to remain in his armor, relying on its life support while he explored. He left his cockpit and stepped onto the platform, his magboots attaching to the metal floor. It’d make slow going but the artificial gravity was off, just like everything else.

He made his way to the command deck, his magboots ‘thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk’ echoing off the empty corridors. There should have been people here, and he hoped there was some clue to where they all went in the main computer.

He clumped toward the main hatch of the command center. It looked like it was open but at an odd angle. As he got closer he saw that most of it had melted. “The only thing that could have done something like that is a Varian disruptor. But they’ve been outlawed in this sector of the Galaxy.”

In the empty command center, everything was shut down, except for one terminal. It didn’t look like standard Galactic Patrol design. Jaxon pulled a small scanning device from a pouch, then held it up to the terminal. This was the source of the signal jamming the comm systems.

He switched several systems over to their backups. Panels lit up, the background hum of the system breaking the total silence. Jaxon took some small comfort in the sense of ‘normalcy’ it imparted. He accessed the main computer, looking for logs from the station Commander. He pulled a small recorder from another pouch and attached it to an interface port. He set it to start downloading the computer contents, then retuned to looking for the logs.

The most recent log entry was from the Security system. He sent the file to the viewer. After a few moments of the screen warming up, the video started playing.

The bridge was filled with personnel, going about their duties. The main hatch turned bright red, as a circle erupted and spread from the center of the door. Rivers of metal dripped down as the rest disintegrated. A squad of marauders poured into the command center, blaster rifles making a swift slaughter of the personnel. One of the marauders turned his blaster on the cameras. There was a brief flash then the screen went blank. A curse escaped Jaxon’s lips.

He returned his attention to the strange terminal, leaving his recorder to finish getting the data from the computer. The display showed output from the program running. It graphed the power and output from the program jamming the comm system. He couldn’t determine anyway to shut it down. He started digging through the files.

“What’s this?” He came across a directory called “Shadow Protocol”. It was encrypted. He wouldn’t be able to crack it here. His recorder beeped, indicating it finished copying the files from the main computer. He found an interface on the terminal and plugged it in. “The Intelligence Unit can see if they can open you up.” He copied the directory over.

His armor’s HUD showed that his oxygen was running low. He’d have to get back to his ship. He made his way down the dark corridors to the hanger bay.

As soon as he entered the bay, blaster bolts erupted around him. Pew pew pew.

Jaxon scrambled for cover. Two blasts hit him as he made his way behind some crates tied to the deck. If he hadn’t been in his armor he’d be dead. His pistol was in his hand in an instant.

“Nice little trap they set up,” he muttered to himself. He dared a glance around the edge of the crates. As expected several shots came his way. In an instant his HUD gave him an analysis of how many and the directions the shots came from. He ducked back. “Time to turn things around.”

The marauders were using magboots as well. That would make them slower moving around. Jaxon backed up toward the nearest wall. He put his magboots against the wall, crouching into a position to push off. He took a deep breath in, then disengaged his boots. He pushed off and shot over the crates. He aimed and fired, taking down one marauder. Three others popped up, one near the one he just took out, two others on the other side of the bay, blasters spewing lasers. Pew pew pew.

One of the blasts caught him, pushing him back toward the ceiling. Jaxon said a silent thanks to the engineers who designed the Ranger armor. He lay down covering fire until his back hit the ceiling. He engaged his magboots, standing on the ceiling. He couched again, making a quick estimate of the angle to get to his ship, then disengaged his boots and pushed off.

His pistol rained laser blasts down upon the marauders as he sailed toward his ship. They returned fire but he did enough to keep them off balance. He raised his left arm and fired a grappling hook toward his ship. The magnetic hook latched on to the hull. He activated the reel, which quickly pulled him toward his ship. He fired off another blast, catching the single marauder in the chest.

“Two down, two to go.” Jaxon swung to face the other two marauders. His ship offered some cover so he flattened himself against the hull. As the marauders spewed as many blast at him as they could, Jaxon took careful aim. He picked off the last two marauders.

Jaxon let out a sigh of relief. He’d check the bodies and see if he could find anything but he suspected they were part of the Viridian Syndicate.

A shudder ran through the bay, and Jaxon heard a distant thud. “That can’t be good.”

More thuds shook the bay. “Time to leave.”

Jaxon scrambled along the hull, sliding into the hatch. He got into the cockpit, slammed the controls to fire the engines. He turned the Majestic Eagle and gunned it just as a blast blew the doors coming into the bay open. A gout of flame quickly followed. Jaxon’s ship erupted out of the flames and into the inky blackness of space.

“Must have had a deadman’s switch tied to a self-destruct mechanism.” He set a course for Galactic Patrol Central.

“They were waiting, if not for me, then for someone from Galactic Patrol.” He held up the recorder. “I suppose you have the answers I’m looking for. But who can I trust to decrypt you?”

He settled in for the return flight, the question weighing heavily upon his mind for the whole trip.

Be sure to check out these other stories:

The Tangled Skein by Barbara Lund

Black Dog by Angelica Medlin

Satellite Of Death by James Husum <– you are here.