The commanding officer of the I.A.V. Malaga could not just let the vessel pass by the radar. There were too many flags and he needed something to do. The transport class Firefly was owned by one Captain Malcolm Reynolds, flagged as not only having dealings with possible stolen goods, but also of harbouring known fugitives. Colonel Bertram Collins wanted something to do as he was dying of boredom, so he ordered the vessel to be hailed. He reckoned if you searched hard enough there would always be something smelly to find.

“There’s no answer, Sir,” squeaked the ensign, who had been watching the clock. He had just two hours to go until he was off duty and it was going real slow.

“Do it again,” ordered Colonel Collins, but the ensign came back with no answer. There was something definitely not right. He ordered the grappling hooks deployed and the ship was pulled into one of the large landing bays. Colonel Collins was all about delegation and next he ordered a company down there to check out the ship and secure it. He did not care to move himself, happy to wait and let others do the work. He got out his nail scraper and managed to clean the fingernails of one hand before he heard back over the com.

“We’ve broken in, Colonel.”

“Yes?” he replied impatiently.

“All the crew are dead. There are no life signs.” The Colonel groaned inwardly and was in two minds to get them to dump the transport class Firefly back in space. He did not know how it even managed to remain in space, it was a piece of junk.

“What did they die of?”

“Uncertain, Sir. But it looks like they all died of the same thing. Have to get the Med team check it out.”

“Do it, but make sure no one leaves that section until you are all cleared.” He hoped he had not let some kind of epidemic on his ship, and was starting to wish he had left it alone. This could cause a mountain of paperwork and that was the last thing he needed. He started chewing on his thumbnail and then turned to the ensign again.

“See if you can dig up the na