Stepping Up (5 page)

“We are waiting on a frickin' exit window. Tammuz, believe
it or not, is a busy place these days. It should be in about two hours though.
Anytime we’re preparing for Transit, Aria will call you—after I sign off on
your proficiency—on your perCom at Execute minus one hour then announce it on
the ship-wide intercom at Execute minus ten minutes. Both you and Gorb need to be
in the drive areas for any issues that may arise. I’m planning to hire another
engineer at Saxon if the goddess wills it. Oh, by the way, Aria will call you
about weapons training while we’re in Transit. It will be two hours per day for
a week. So attend it, learn it. I’ll cover for you while you do that.”

I sip my tea to build my courage a bit, “Speaking of Aria, I
was looking at the ship’s history and…”

He grins at me, “She looks good for a gal over three hundred
years old, doesn’t she? Aria is an android.  I have no idea how old she really
is.  She implies she knew Mike, actually I think he was my great grandpop, and
his dad, Peter.  But whenever Lord Collins gets mentioned, her expression gets
sour. Come to think of it, I don’t recall her ever mentioning him by name or
title.  He’s always ‘that colorful historic figure.’ Apparently, she has some
unpleasant memories where he’s concerned.”

I did not see that coming. I’m not a racist, but I always
thought I’d able to tell when confronted with an android.  I suppose not.  “I
brought a 9mm pistol, do I take that for weapons training?”

He smirks. “You wish. You will be assigned a shipboard
weapon, which along with ammunition will be provided you. Your dossier says you
are skilled with shotguns and rifles. You will most likely train on the SP-10.”

Yeah, okay whatever.  ‘Trained’ yes, ‘like’ no.
  I
understand that shotguns are valuable and useful on spacecraft.  I just don’t
like them.  To my mind there’s not enough kill certainty there.  I like a
bullet with a name on it, not a bunch of pellets labeled “occupant.” But, when
in Tema… “‘Familiar with’ is probably a better term than ‘skilled.’ SP-10, got
it.  And just so I fit in, some people I see carrying sidearms, others aren’t. 
What’s the rule?”

“The Troopers are always strapped.  It’s part of their
lifestyle.  Most of the crew is not.  For the moment, keep it in your
stateroom, or your day bag.  Once we’ve established your proficiency, I’ll
reconsider the restriction.  The rule is:  the decision is up to the
individual.  But even after that, I’d really rather you not for a variety of
reasons.  Chief among them, i2t isn’t necessary.  The reality is that you will
be bringing your APE suit and shotgun with you when you come to duty anyway. 
And besides, what value is it down in the engine room? You may be good with a
pistol, but can you repair a plasma leak with small arms fire? Methinks not.”

He makes a valid argument.

“Hey Gorb! The manual says the triredirial conduit access
panel-securing stud should be right here. But I can’t find it, where is it?” 
Aria called me almost an hour ago to alert me we had the Transit window.  I
decided to kill the intervening time learning the engines as Mack still has all
the authority anyway.

“Push the blue wire out of the way Miss Shownya. The charge
induction filter quantifies all the pulses at that junction. That stud is
behind it, offset to the left about an inch and half. Seewhutuhmean?”

Mack was right, when Gorb speaks technical talk, he doesn’t
slur or speak like he normally does.  Interesting.  “Thank you, Gorb.”

“You vewy welcome, Miss Shownya.” He walks away muttering,
“Gorb always helps...Helped Miss Shownya...Hee hee.  She’s smart but Gorb
smarter.  Gorb not as pwetty though.”

I can’t help but smile. He’s like a bipedal puppy. The girls
in the chow hall were right. Anybody starting something with Gorb will have a
bunch of people to go through to get to him.

I hear Aria’s soft voice over the ShipCom at 0700 
“Engineering, Bridge.  Transit status report.”

Mack is standing at the status boards, he looks at me. “What
do you see?” he asks.

I check the status boards twice, all read “green” for
ready.  I signal Gorb to don his helmet.  He already has, so has Mack.  I put
mine on and switch on the internal communicator.  “I see a green board.”

“I concur. Submit your report.”

I toggle to the bridge communication circuit. “Bridge,
Engineering.  You are green to Transit.” 

“All stations prepare for Transit in ten minutes,” Aria
intones over the shipCom.

We’re ready but we use up the next ten minutes preparing for
potential catastrophes.  Mack and I watch the status boards, Gorb moves around
the engines, his head on a swivel.  The indicators show we have reached our
maximum acceleration.  Of course we don’t feel it, but pressures are beginning
to build inside the Transit drives.

Eventually, Aria begins the countdown. “Transit in
three…two…one…Execute.” 

I imagine it is like standing on the nose of a dragon when
it roars.  Or sneezes.  Transit engines are very powerful.  They are also very
loud.  Were it not for our helmets, the roar of the engines would certainly
have deafened all of us.  And the concussive wave would have likely severely
damaged our ears, eyes and other soft tissue.  As it is, I feel the concussion
against me like a physical assault, making my coveralls snap. I’m not sure why
that is.  The drives don’t emit air. There’s no matter that travels from them. 
It must be the noise wave.
Night Searcher
is now on a twenty-four day
trip to Saxon.

“And now?” Mack is on the private channel.

“Gorb, post Transit checks?” I call.

“I see no leaks, flares or fires.  I see no dangling or
swinging cables.  I see no light I cannot account for.”

“Thank you.”

Mack asks, “What do you see?”

My eyes dance over the status displays.  Uronium reactor
outputs are within tolerance; engine temperature and pressures are nominal. 
“Sir, my board is good.  Engines are operating within standards.”

“Who needs to know that?”

I check the boards again then report to the bridge: “Bridge,
Engineering.  Transit engines operating within normal parameters.  No evident
problems.”

Aria replies. “Roger, Engineering.”

Now is when the boredom starts.  Unless something breaks,
there’s not a whole lot for an engineer to do in the engine room once the ship
Transits.  Which is—I’m sure—why I soon hear Aria say “Sonia, report to the
simulation room, deck E, at zero eight three zero. Mack will cover you in
Engineering.”

“Roger, Aria.”
It must be weapons training time
. Just
because there’s not much to do doesn’t mean there is nothing to do.  We do have
some in-Transit checks we need to accomplish.

I’m preparing to plead that case when Mack tells me, “We
have this.  Go to class.”

So I shut my mouth and leave.

The other two newbies, Twelia and Ricky, are here as well
as a man I don’t know who has a pushcart loaded down with weapons and other equipment. 
We all say hi and chew the fat for a few minutes, mostly first day horror
stories.  The equipment man silently checks the weapons on his cart.  Aria
comes in and issues a short series of commands. It turns out the equipment man
is the ship’s armorer.

“Sonia gets the shotgun and forty SIM rounds. Twelia gets
the submachine gun, Richard gets the laser pistol with SIM pack.” He pushes the
anti-grav cart, handing us our assigned weapons and ammunition.

The SP-10 is a monster. It’s built around a 10 gauge shotgun
chassis.  This one has a ten round magazine that mounts under the barrel. 
Installed, the magazine is as long as the barrel. It will fire either
semi-automatic or in bursts of three rounds.  There’s a fifty round drum
magazine available as well.  I will need a shoulder strap to support its weight
when the drum is in use.  But I don’t have to worry about that today. 
What
did I do to deserve this? This beast is surely to knock me flat on my backside.

Once we all have our gear, the armorer takes his cart and
leaves the room.

Aria speaks:  “Clearly, none of you are foot soldiers,”
I
guess I read Ricky wrong; he’s not even a backup infantryman,
“so you won’t
be leading any assaults.  But if the ship is boarded, every able hand is
expected to be holding a weapon.  Sonia, you are first.  Give me a nod when you
are ready.”

I lock and load the first ten-round magazine.  I have two
more on the deck beside me. Rapid reload, ejecting the empty magazine, and
seating a full one, will be part of the exercise.  I cut my eyes to Aria but
before I can nod, a holographic enemy rushes towards me.  I give my best
Trooper yell and shoot from the hip.  The recoil isn’t close to what I
expected, thanks be to Isis, but it’s still a wallop.  I continue to fire the
weapon on semi-automatic.  I count the shots.  When the last round is
chambered, I thumb the magazine release.  The spent magazine falls away.  I jam
the new one into the well and I shoot at the next target.  At the end of the
exercise I’ve killed five of the nine that rushed me.

Aria nods. “Not bad. Richard?” 

Ricky takes his place on the firing line and, his pistol at
the ready, nods.  He’s done this before.  He coolly and methodically puts three
rounds in each target he engages, one in the gut, one in the chest and one in
the head.  He drops all nine, granted the last was within slapping distance,
but he did drop him.

“Excellent.” Aria says, “Twelia?”

Twelia toes the line.  I can tell she’d rather be getting a
root canal without an anesthetic while wearing a barbed wire bikini in a pool
filled with magnetic, rusty razor blades. Gods bless her.  The M8 looks massive
in her delicate hands.  The only thing she does right is to set the weapon on
burst.  Three of nine. Firing bursts, the magazine doesn’t last long.  The
weapon clicks on the empty chamber.  Magazine changes are her downfall.  She
looks at the weapon and fumbles removing the empty magazine.  As she’s trying
to get the new one seated, holographic foes streak past her.  She raises the
weapon to fire but has to charge it first.

Aria calls, “Cease Fire on the line.  Firers clear and safe
all weapons. Richard that was excellent.  Sonia, you did well.  Twelia, stop
moping. We call this ‘training’ for a reason.  Now we will go over some basics.
Richard, if you would help Sonia with her shooting stance? Thank you.  Twelia,
step over here.  Stop pouting sweetie, I will teach you what you need to know.”

Ricky helps me with foot placement.  He directs me to scoot
my heel back and rotate my front foot outward.  My toes only moved three
quarters of an inch, if that. He gives me some pointers on hand positioning,
how much my elbows should bend. Now I feel rock solid. “You shoot very good,”
he tells me.

“Thank you.”

“Have you fired this weapon before?”

I try a weak smile. “Not this one, a shotgun from time to
time.  But I really prefer rifles and pistols. And the way I see it, I was
raped and murdered four times instead of nine.”

“Unlikely. On the street when you fire the first round most
mobs will scatter.  Your grip is good, let’s look at your execution.”  He leads
me through some dry fire drills. He picks up on my hesitance.  “Sonia, I have a
question for you:  Are you afraid of this weapon?”

“Afraid? No…well, a little.  I like to think of it as a
healthy respect.” He’s not buying it.  “Yes,” I confess quietly, “this thing
scares me.”

“Okay, look at it like this then:  One of you will be the
master, the other the slave.  To be crass about it, is the gun going to be your
bitch or will it be the other way around?”  Nobody had ever explained it to me
like that before. 
I’m nobody’s bitch! Especially not an inanimate object’s!

After a half hour of tutorials and practice, Aria calls us
all back to the line.  “Round two, and we dial it up to ‘hazardous.’  Don your
APE suits for added reality.”

With our APE suits on, we also have to adjust the trigger
guards to allow for our APE gloves.  The gloves are not thick, but they are
present.  Ricky goes first.  Eleven for twelve.  Then it’s my turn. Nine for
twelve.  Statistically, that’s a bit of an increase. Not excellent, but better
and I did feel more solid, which makes me feel more confident. But if it’s time
to start shooting I’m going to find something to hide behind and be very, very
quiet.  But my firing was more controlled; this time the weapon didn’t jump
like it did before.  Ricky gives me a thumbs up.  I smile at him then look at
the shotgun.
Who’s the bitch now?

Then Twelia steps to the line.  I do not want to be on the
same boarder repel team with her. Three of twelve? Ugh!

Aria calls, “Cease fire on the line, firers lock and clear
all weapons.  Today’s exercise is complete.  All of you, these are your
weapons.  Take them to your cabins.  Clean and store them.  In your spare time
practice your dry fire drills.  If it is available, you may use this room for
practice. You can access the scheduling database through any holoCom on the
ship.  The armorer will give you cleaning kits as you leave.  The TMs are all
in the ship library and I urge you to study them. Pay particular attention to
the immediate action drills. When you hear the alert—and you will know it when
you do—don your APE suit, grab your weapon and head to your alert station.  We
will do this again in twenty-two hours.  Dismissed.”  The only thing Twelia
looks at as she leaves is the deck plating.

I accept my cleaning kit from the armorer and hurry to catch
her out in the corridor.  “Twelia, wait up for a second.”  She stops and turns;
she looks like she’s on the verge of tears.  I don’t want to embarrass her any
more so I lower my voice. “I saw you fumbling with the rapid reload. An old
boyfriend of mine used to practice changing magazines with the lights out or
blindfolded.  He said your eyes will trick you.  You have to trust your
fingers. Your eyes will mislead you but your hands know where they need to go. 
Practice it a bit. I’m sure you’ll get it.” I give her my best “you got this”
smile.

She looks at me like she doesn’t believe I’m sincere.  “I’ll
try it.  Thanks.”  She turns away then turns back. “Wait, it’s Sonia, right?
You look like the girls I knew back in the day, but you aren’t like them, are
you?  I wasn’t the pretty or the popular girl.  I was the one that girls like
you, I mean girls that looked like you, picked on, but you really want to help
me don’t you?”

“Yes, Twelia, I do.  And no, I’m not like them.  To be
honest, once upon a time I was one of those girls, and when my mom found out
she whacked me a good one.  But since then I’ve spent too much time getting my
hands dirty to get wrapped up in drama like that anymore.  We’re shipmates.
You’ve got my back and I’ve got yours.  It’s the only plan that works every
time.”  I smile; she smiles.  She holds her fist up.  A fist bump isn’t a
handshake, but it’s a first step. We go our separate ways.

I take my shotgun to my room, wipe it down and lock it up. 
I remember what Mack said about having it handy, but I’m not proficient yet, so
I’d be a bigger danger to the crew than I would a help.  Once everything is
back where it belongs and I’ve stowed my cleaning kit, I return to
Engineering.  Mack is making his rounds.  “How’d it go?” he asks.

“Not horrible.  I only got captured, raped, mutilated and/or
murdered seven out of twenty one times.  A shotgun though? Pray tell why?”

I don’t know Gorb is behind me until I hear his gasp. 
“Shownya! You got hurt?”

Mack snickers but then realizes how upset he is. “No Gorb,
she had Small Arms training this morning. Don’t worry, Sonia. You’ll get it
down. A shotgun is the best shipboard weapon. If anyone is wearing armor, you
can forget a pistol. And the self-propelled ammo of a poorly aimed assault
rifle will do more damage to the ship than the boarders.  That SP-10 can be
loaded with seven different rounds. Some will defeat armor, some won’t.  But
all will deliver a hefty ballistic shock. Check the specs out tonight.   And
since you’re back, I’ve got work to do.  See you later. Oh, by the way, has
anyone shown you the lounge? It’s on deck C, area three forward. Good booze and
plenty of socializing.  But limit your drinking.  Give yourself at least four
and preferably six hours between play and work.”

“If you say so. And no one has said anything to me about a
lounge.  Deck C, area three forward?  I’ll give it a look-see.”

I still have several hours until my shift is over.  Mack
left me a stack of work orders.  A wide range of fixes takes me to each corner
of the maneuver drive room.  They also get me familiar with practically
everything in the tool locker.  As we aren’t always in eyesight of one another,
Gorb and I have short-range intercom headsets.