by Mars Dorian
That’s why she flicked him a smug glance reeking of over-confidence. The engineer looked up from his production set. “Time for Ming-San to have some looky fun.”
She pressed her lips and turned her head.
“What?”
“Looky, looky, o-kudasai,” he said with an innocent smile on his face.
“Mocking my Japanese heritage isn’t very polite, Ekström. I know you’re better than that.”
Obviously not.
Ming tried to get back into her soothing role but the engineer wouldn't comply.
“Arigatooo.”
“Please stop it.”
“Hai, hai.”
Rosco watched as the harmonious situation escalated. What the hex was going on in the engineer’s mind? Ming seemed to pose the same question as she said, “That’s not even how Japanese-English sounds.”
“Me so sorry long long time.”
He shrugged in a melodramatic way. Rosco couldn’t tell whether the red-haired man was trolling or simply out of control. The engineer bowed in a mocking way, his face almost hitting the ground. The doctor clenched her fists. Rosco stepped in to prevent a verbal skirmish. “Mind if you go outside, Doctor? I think Ekström and I need to have a little bro-versation.”
She nodded with a forced bow. “But don’t hurt him, sir. It’s not his fault.”
“Back to the bridge, Doctor.”
She abided with a stiff posture and marched through the self-closing door. Rosco forced silence into the moment and eyed the engineer like a predator. It was time to set things straight.
36
Ekström rushed around his table equipment and produced high-pitched sounds. Rosco noticed sweat pearls assembling on his forehead which meant the engineer felt the pressure.
“Let’s just drop the racial slurs. Ming Brakemoto is a fourth generation Japanese-Mooner who speaks perfect Interstellar English.”
Ekström rediscovered his sudden interest in the drone set again. “‘kay?”
Rosco continued. “Listen, we’re in tight quarters, hundreds of millions of klicks away from colonial territory. Every social conflict on board is poison to troop morale. This mission is bigger than our egos, so why don’t we just play along nicely and go back home with a crapload of credits?”
The engineer saluted him. “Oy, oy, Capt’n Tellride.”
Rosco nodded and turned around, but stopped mid-way through the motion. Something in the engineer’s voice rubbed him the wrong way. “Are you mocking my Martian dialect?”
“Nay, sir, I aint doin’ dat.”
Daring to ridicule Rosco’s crew, and then his status as a captain? The little bastard. Back at ICED, the man would have been discharged in the blink of a nano-enhanced eye. But on the privateer front things worked a bit differently, much to the captain’s dismay. Lo-Skova was still the supreme commander, even though she reigned many billions of kilometers away.
“Listen, you degenerate nanofreak. I don’t care why Lo-Skova chose you. If you sabotage my mission, I’m gonna throw you out the airlock without atmogear.”
The engineer stepped back and swallowed. Rosco felt remorse for the threat—the freak was no match for his physical strength, and the captain hated preying on the weak and the socially stunted. But he just couldn’t understand why Daystellar’s CEO chose someone as socially inept as Ekström to join this mission. That decision bordered on tactical suicide. “Just work on the tech and try not to open your mouth unless it’s absolutely necessary. Spoiler alert: it will never be necessary.”
Ekström nodded. “Su-weet sol, sir.”
Whatever.
Rosco yanked the slim case of nano-layered techtoos from Ekström’s hands and stomped out the lab. The CEO was right about one thing—the only place for Ekström was the lab, everything else led to social disaster. And if the red-haired man’s tech was as useless as his emotional intelligence, Rosco would seriously consider leaving the engineer in the canyon wasteland.
Rosco hoped the soldier of his team didn’t suffer from any psychological quirks. He visited the nearby armory and found Yeltzin sitting in front of the lockers with legs crossed and eyes closed. His hands rested on the kneecaps, pointed upwards. Was the guy meditating in the middle of a mission preparation? Seriously, this crew was a freak show.
“Are you channeling the spirits of the armory?”
“No, sir, I’m mentally preparing for the dispatch. I want to get my head clear before we leave this ship. Turmoil of the mind lowers battle performance.”
Sounded like meta-mumbo, but Rosco had heard of meditation programs; they were supposed to prevent suicide and PTSD among the troops. “What about the load-out?”
Yeltzin opened his eyes and pointed at the devices on the showcase. “I’ve chosen the optimal setup for our team, sir. Please have a look and tell me if that selection satisfies you. I’ve also pre-checked the LRV in the bay. It’s ready to roll, Captain.”
“Good. We’re leaving in thirty minutes.”
He looked up at the ceiling. “Can you hear me, eQuip?”
“Loud and clear, sir.”
“Tell Ming to meet us in the hangar bay ASAP. We are going to disembark in thirty minutes.”
“What about Ekström?”
“He’ll stay in the ship and work on whatever dimension he’s stuck in.”
“But, Captain, the CEO said the engineer was supposed to join your recon team.”
“No way; the guy is a liability that will endanger our lives.”
“I’m afraid that goes against Daystellar’s rules of engagement.”
“Are you kidding me, XO? You’re under my command.”
“Actually, I’m under Lo-Skova’s command. And her orders were to have Ekström join the team at all costs. If you don’t comply, I can’t let you go. I’m deeply sorry, sir.”
Her empathy sounded faked; he wasn’t even sure the Newtype were capable of expressing real feelings.
Rosco ground his teeth.
Lo-Skova’s promise of ‘total leadership’ started to fade away. Rosco wondered how much say he’d really have here. Because of time pressure, he conceded.
For now.
“Listen, eQuip. If this guy disrupts my mission in any way, shape, or form, I’ll have him transported back to the ship. He’ll be contained in an iso-cube before breakfast.”
“Fair deal. Doctor Brakemoto will be the acting comlink between you two.”
Yeah, well. Last time they spoke, that tactic tanked like a leaking interceptor. Rosco looked down at Yeltzin still sitting in lotus-position with a half-smile painted on his serene face.
“Snoring time is over, soldier. Let’s go do some ground control.”
“Yes, sir.”
The two men walked to the Vanguard’s vehicle bay where the most impressive rover of the Daystellar fleet awaited them.
37
In a matter of minutes, the whole crew assembled in the bay, except for eQuip who was stationed in the bridge. At least her physical body was; her mind was tuned in wirelessly via the membrane-walls of the ship. Yeltzin opened his weapons crate and spread the arms out on a tech table which normally functioned as a repair counter for the vehicle parts.
“Load-out time, sir,” he said with his chest raised.
Yeltzin went full instructor mode. “Considering each of your psychological profiles, skill specialization, and the environmental data from this planet, I’ve assembled the appropriate gear for this operation. Let’s start with the most important person—Captain Tellride.”
Rosco didn’t know if Yeltzin was trying to collect brownie points. Out of all the units in his crew, the soldier was the hardest to gauge. He carried a personality that was atypical for a ground-pounder. “Show me what you got.”
“Sir, since we both went through Basic, I’ve chosen a weapon that fits our skills and causes effective damage within the planet’s thin atmosphere.”
He presented a state-of-the-art energy rifle in his broad hands. The barrels disap
peared into a thin, elongated square shape while the stock curved like a metallic snail.
“The MKII LZR Coil rifle, sir. Since the atmosphere here is a lot thinner than on Earth, it has fewer particles in the air that can dissipate our beams. With eQuip’s help, I’ve calculated the effective shooting range of the LZR to be almost two thousand and five hundred meters.”
Rosco whistled. Based on his research, the same gun would only achieve half that range on Earth thanks to its dense atmosphere and various particles in the air. Yeltzin handed the elite rifle over to the captain who welcomed it like a new-born son. Upon first touch, Rosco noticed its ergonomic design. The beauty of LZR rifles were their lack of recoil. With no thrust pushing against the body, the light beam could be targeted at the utmost accuracy—a definite advantage when dealing with an unknown alien race.
“What else, Lieutenant?”
The soldier continued. “As a secondary firearm, I suggest the Rail Revolvers. They offer an excellent mix of accuracy, penetration, and range, considering their relatively small size.”
The Rail Revolver looked like a classic revolver with a black grip, although its barrel and drum were cubed-shaped. A black and yellow sign graced the rear, warning users of its hazardous power. Yeltzin cleared his throat.
“I’ve attached a stabilizer to each unit, but they still pack a punch.”
He handed a unit over to Ming. “Doctor, if you’re unsure, you may want to consider using both of your hands to aim.”
Ming Brakemoto sneered. “Are you implying that a woman like me can’t handle the recoil?”
She snapped the Rail Revolver from his hands and aimed it at the nearby cargo crate.
“Remember, boys, I was the best shooter in my segment. Look up my profile if you don’t believe me.”
Rosco still wasn’t impressed. Hitting the shooting range and sniping dummy heads wasn’t the same as being engaged in a real-live battle. Adrenaline, fear, and chaos mixed. That deadly trio messed up your aim if you weren’t mentally prepared for it. He hoped they’d never get into a situation where Ming needed to shoot.
Yeltzin concluded his tour. “Well, your atmogear contains three layers of armor plating that can withstand SV rounds, even at point-blank range. Of course we don’t know how effective it will be against alien weapons. Let’s pray we’ll never have to find out.”
Praying wasn’t going to avoid an alien encounter. Rosco assembled his suit and found an additional laser-cutter attached to his thigh—a useful all around tool to cut through even the hardest of materials. Yeltzin, being the strongest and biggest of the team, attached more weapons to the holsters and modular pouches of his militarized atmogear. Rosco recognized a smart scattergun, a couple of concussion grenades, as well as the Rail Revolver, the LZR Coil and…a mobile rocket launcher.
Rosco scratched his stubble. “Preparing for war?”
“I’d call it technologically-enhanced risk mitigation, sir.”
Bureaucratic word choice for blowing shit up. The guy seemed to be a walking contradiction—one side of Yeltzin sounded like a tree-hugging bio-bum while the other swooned over military tech and warfare tactics. Rosco hoped those contrary traits didn’t cross each other out when combat knocked. On top of the weapon load-out, each crew member adjusted their personal tech. Ekström for example seemed to hold a mechanized gear pack on the back of his environmental armor. It was a miracle the frail-looking engineer was able to schlepp the whole thing, but maybe the atmogear helped him out—the suit contained a micro-exoskeleton inside its frame which adapted to the limbs and counterbalanced the strong gravity on the planet.
While the team fumbled with their equipment, Rosco pushed the moment. Every second they spent on chitchat, they wasted on mission time. “Okay, we got the gear. Let’s roll out.”
Yeltzin saluted. “Our vehicle is ready for departure, sir.”
The LRV looked impressive. It sported an angular design, probably to deflect radar waves, and carried four armored spike-wheels half of Rosco’s size. The vehicle harbored seven seats—two in the front, and five in the armored back. An autonomous turret augmented the top of the LRV, upgraded with holo-targeting and three ammunition types: SV, HV, and corrosive. According to the specs, it also came with a mobile point-defense laser setup that could prematurely implode rockets and torpedoes hundreds of kilometers away.
“Can you drive this vehicle, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir. It’s similar to an ICED rover, but twice as effective.”
Against human enemies for sure, but what about the aliens? Could it withstand the arsenal that the unknown life form was potentially going to throw at them?
The team would soon find out.
“Good work, soldier. Let’s mount up. We’ll use the coordinates that eQuip has calculated and hit the outside.”
He inspected his little recon team still standing in line. Each atmogear suit adapted to their body forms like armored skin. The blue and yellow Daystellar logo branded the rear of their legs and the front of their chest plates.
Walking billboards for the company.
Rosco wondered why—there was no media presence or audience out here to drool at the sponsored suits. And he doubted the foreign life form was going to become an investor any time soon.
“Crew, an alien world awaits us outside. We’re going to deal with environmental challenges, unknown life forms, and dangers we don’t even have names for. But if we work together, we’ll walk out of this with chests and credits raised.”
“Yes, sir,” Ming and Yeltzin said at the same time.
Only the engineer delayed his answer, which came as no surprise. Rosco pointed his index and middle finger from his to Ekström’s eyes. A burning line of sight ensued.
I’m watching you, Ekström.
38
Ekström averted his glance sideways which caused Rosco to grin. Of course the engineer couldn’t take the captain’s confidence. Ming watched their boyish spiel and sighed. “Sir, please.”
“What? Gazes are a no-go?”
“It’s the way your eyeballs move that triggers Ekström.”
“Wait ‘til he comes in contact with the aliens.”
Enough time wasted.
Resources were limited, despite the nano-induced consumption. Rosco needed to remind the crew of the time pressure.
“Lieutenant, man the LRV and crank up the engine.” He spoke into his comm. “eQuip, you stay put here and update me immediately if you notice any anomaly, okay?”
“Yes, sir. Good luck, everyone. Deliver fortune to yourself and Daystellar.”
The team stepped into the LRV which Yeltzin had brought to life. Despite the machine’s heavy build, the motor purred like a cat in a coma—the magic of Daystellar engineering.
Once inside the backseat, Rosco switched to team channel frequency 22 and strapped himself in. Yeltzin steered the vehicle toward the bay’s first airlock as it slid open sideways. In the mid-space, the gate closed behind and the fifteen second decompression started.
Rosco watched Ming staring out her side window slit while tapping her gloved index finger on her armored kneecap. The captain didn’t need a pulse check to realize she was wired. “Don’t worry, Doctor. We have an experienced driver and the best tech credits can buy.”
She accepted his glance and nodded. “I’m just excited, sir. This will probably the grandest day of humanity.”
“So it’s up to your standards?”
A genuine smile broke through her nervous expression. “Definitely.”
The final airlock opened. The planet’s light burst in like a flash bang as the bright glow blazed through the decompression chamber. Yeltzin pushed the LRV forward and rolled onto alien land.
“Can you feel it, Captain?” Ming whispered as she glanced out. The doctor lifted her left arm with her palm pointed at the LRV’s ceiling. She tried to hold it straight but shivered like someone stuck to a power outlet.
“This is the sensation of making history.”
>
39
Rosco was excited as well, albeit for different reasons. He was the first captain to ever set boots on an alien planet.
Those idiots at ICED would beg to get him back. Commander Wiktor would be the joke of the entire fleet for having Rosco discharged. He already pictured the middle-aged man sitting in front of his feed, seeing the reports of Rosco leading his crew safely through alien territory. He wanted to revel in that vision, but the importance of the mission snapped him out of his daydream. The captain concentrated on the moment and inspected the morale of his crew.
Ekström watched the wrist display attached to his right arm. Outside the dashing vehicle, the drone called Lily flew over the foreign land and provided intel for the eccentric tech freak. Rosco wondered how the engineer controlled his aerial robot. He couldn’t detect any form of dashboard UX or control mechanism, which meant the drone either flew autonomously or through mind-control.
Was that possible?
Rosco knew that the Newtype could mind-steer their vehicles, but they were more cyborg than human. If the engineer was anything like them, he wouldn’t suffer from his brain dysfunction. There were too many unknown variables; as long as Ekström didn’t interfere with his mission, he was allowed to use whatever trick and tech he could access.
Ming started to speak. “Imagine an alien culture using only visuals to communicate, sir. No noise, no interference; just eye-to-eye contact.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
Ming pursed her lips. Based on her grimace, it was obvious she disagreed. The captain eased up. “Listen, I think it’s admirable that you’re into their flowery patterns. But let’s not forget that, whatever they are, they shot at us first. My love for pretty symbols wanes when energy darts rip apart my ship’s hull.”
“First of all, sir, they’re not symbols; they’re complex hieroglyphs in color combinations unimaginable to the human mind. Second of all, they didn’t rip apart our armor, or else we couldn’t have landed on their soil. I still believe they prefer peaceful solutions.”