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<cut back to Fred. Where the station commander is pushing LazyScot's bed (with him holding onto its underside), whilst talking to ground control.>
"Yes, I'm sure the craft is there; I can clearly see it. If you give me a moment I'll align our external cameras on it so you can see it and track it."
"What's ARTs?" asked LazyScot.
"Arboreal Rodent Threats." Replied the station commander.
LazyScot thought for a moment. "They're Furry A--"
"Shut Up. Ground Control will fly you down. Just strap yourself in." And with that the commander finished pushing LazyScot and his bed into the capsule and slammed down the airlock to the capsule. Shaking his head he muttered, "Yeah, I know, and they're in space suits and not welcome. If someone was scripting this they ought to be fired, one way, into deep space. My psychiatrist is not going to believe this." And with that, he then busied himself setting the cameras to point at the approach craft and its flotilla of space-suited squirrels, and placing them under the control of the ground station.
"You should be able to see the ARTs and ART craft on camera, and you should have control."
"Confirmed," said the ground control with Zen-like tones. "I have control. But we still cannot see the other target via radar or any other mechanism. Given how close they are reading on the cameras, I reco—"
"Don't worry, I am getting out now. The original target is now in capsule 2. It's clear for you to bring it down, but be careful about that other invisible bogey I reported. It's about 250 metres from us directly in line with the detach vector of capsule 2. I'm about to enter the capsule 1. I'll detach myself, and Neil and I will come down in it."
With that there was a dull thump as LazyScot's capsule left the station followed by another as the crew's capsule detatched. At almost the same moment a number of small, barely audible pairs of taps could be heard running through the station. The squirrels had arrived at Fred.
And with that the commander through himself into the remaining capsule, slamming down the airlock as he entered. Just as he shut the airlock door, a rushing blizzard emptied Fred through a freshly cut hole, courtesy of a light-sabre, and seconds after the suited squirrels enter.
The forms move menacingly along the length of the now vacated Fred, clearly looking for someone or something, randomly slicing and smashing parts as they move through towards the docking hatches. Had it been possible to hear, it would have seemed perfectly natural to hear something like "the target is not aboard" in communications back to their mother craft, once they had finally completed the search.
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