Energy needs were just too high, I'd been told. The lack of aerodynamics meant the thing would never be able to get back off planet, if we were ever so unfortunate as to land on one. And we couldn't compensate with extra outboard thrusters or solar sails, because that'd be too obvious. I didn't look at it as limitations. I saw it as a challenge. A bit like 20th century submarines in space, really. The silent service. Except instead of hiding beneath the waves, we were all crammed into a hollowed-out asteroid, something like 20 cubic miles. Technically we were a space station. But unlike most of the mining bases, the whole point was that we still looked like a big ol' rock. Just had to hope nobody tried to mine us for tungsten, or anything like that.
We'd come to refer to this space-boulder as Caiaphas Station. I'm not sure who came up with the name. I vaguely recalled it being Biblical, but I confess, I hadn't done much reading to know exactly from where. As the station commander of sorts (albeit, since we weren't proper navy or colony, the rank meant nothing), I was in charge of balancing our assets and resources, but also, I was the one that decided where we went. Because despite being a big-ass rock in space, we did have some maneuverability. Couldn't exactly jump, or cruise, without drawing tons of attention, but we were still able to get around in the neighborhood. Point us in the right direction, squeeze out a few bursts of thrust with whatever burner fuel we have on hand, and then let the momentum take care of the rest. As long as we stayed clear enough of the planets, we'd be across the solar system in a few weeks. With some skillful application of all of our jury-rigged maneuvering thrusters, I could even slot us into orbit around Saturn or something.
But as skillful as I was, I wasn't so great at dealing with people...least of all, the kind of people who'd live in an asteroid.
Caiaphas Station was home to a lot of people that didn't have anywhere else to go. The people who couldn't show their faces in Coalition-controlled space ever again. I'd done a fair job of keeping the more notable groups away; religious terrorists were not welcome, nor was anybody who trafficked in hijacked Coalition ships. We'd had a very uncomfortable half-a-year when pirates of the Red Chasm were lodging with us, but eventually even my crew - reluctant as they were to turn away anybody with a reason to stay - got so sick of them freeloading and wrecking the pub that they banded together and jettisoned the lot of them, bright-red-colored ships and all.
Which was why I was confused, and upset, about the latest drain on our resources. We'd had a lot of freak power failures recently, and our stock of fossil fuels was starting to run low enough that I wouldn't be able to bring us to a stop with counter-thrust if the station got moving too fast. I got to asking around. Normally I didn't care who was doing what, as long as my people weren't literally killing each other. But it didn't take long for Paterson, my engineer, to spill the beans. He was mad. He had to take it out on someone.