“Hey, you can’t party without the King,” Captain Willy King said.
“Sorry, Will, you’ve got to get those suits up to the mothership,” Nance said.
“Shouldn’t you stay here and help the battalion,” Angel suggested, knowing it was a hopeless suggestion.
“Oh, I think we’d just be in the way,” Nance said. “I’m sure we’ll be fine in the settlement.”
“Now, you’re talking,” Thriller said.
“We can show the local yokels how it’s done,” Fozzy said.
“Care to join us, Angel?” Nance asked.
Angel saw the looks of anger and warning on the faces of Zilla and Raven. She wasn’t sure why they hated her, but she could tell instantly she wasn’t wanted. She hesitated for a moment, acting as if she was debating the idea.
“I better go up with the shuttle,” she finally said, seeing the others breathe a sigh of relief.
Only Nance seemed genuinely disappointed. He was still trying to win her over, although Angel couldn’t understand why.
“I’ll let the others know,” Angel said.
“Perhaps it’s best if you squad stays with you,” Nance suggested. “We can’t be responsible for letting a bunch of rough necks loose on the settlement.”
“I agree,” Angel said. “We wouldn’t want them to give the CSF a bad reputation.”
She walked away from the group trying not to let her fury show. Goldman had given her orders and she would follow them. Nance saw the CSF, and even his assignment to the ARC platoon, as just another responsibility to avoid while he looked for opportunities to party with his friends. If they went up to the Ramses, Angel knew they would simply find something to keep themselves busy and avoid any real work. Better, she thought, to let them stay away. At least she wouldn’t have to appease him while she made sure the ARC suits were ready for combat when the colonel called on them.
“How’d it go?” Cash asked, wiping his hands with a rag.
“About like you would expect,” Angel said. “We’ll be dropping the officers off at New Chicago on our way back to the ship.”
“No kidding,” he said with a chuckle. “They aren’t even trying to hide their privilege as officers are they?”
“No. They don’t like me. They don’t have a clue what to do in the ARC suits, and they don’t care. Assigning them to the platoon was a complete waste of time and money.”
“It’s a shame,” Cash said. “They’ve got skills.”
“And they know it. Let’s get our gear stowed away and make sure everyone is ready for the flight up. If Captain King isn’t as good a pilot as he says, we may be in for a bumpy ride.”
29
C.S.F. Ramses, close orbit,
Neo Terra, Tau Ceti system
Lieutenant Commander Paula Mercer took a shuttle from the Emergency Alert Station to the Ramses. Her personal belongings all fit neatly into a single storage bin the maintenance crew and had loaded for her. Goodbyes were common in the military, and Paula made hers quickly before flying over and being greeted by Lieutenant Commander Jimmy Brown. He seemed friendly and eager to meet her. Paula had feared he might be jealous, but she guessed he was still thrilled with his promotion to lieutenant commander and would be satisfied serving as her first officer.
Their first stop was the commander’s quarters, which had been occupied by Commodore Duke Beauregard. He was waiting inside, with several of the ship’s senior officers, and quickly went through the promotion ceremony. After reading the standard promotion speech and pointing out Paula’s past accomplishments, he replaced the double silver spars on her collar with double gold spars.
“The Ramses is a good ship,” he said quietly, “with a top notch crew. They’ve been on station here in the Tau Ceti system since the Swarm crisis began. You’re in good hands.”
“Thank you, Commodore,” Mercer said. “I’m looking forward to the challenge.”
“Yes, we’ve been the primary vessel for Air Force operations, and now the ARC platoon. If you have any questions, please message me. I’ll just be on the Apollo for the foreseeable future.”
As soon as the short ceremony was done, Beauregard left for the hanger to report to his new post, while Paula and the other officers went directly to the bridge. Everyone came to attention, and Paula returned their salute before walking to the elevated Commander’s chair. She didn’t sit down, instead she stood while she looked to the communication’s officer.
“Open a ship-wide channel,” she ordered.
“Aye, Commander,” the officer said.
Paula rarely felt nervous, but a quiver of uncertainty wavered through her. What if the crew didn’t like her? What if she failed? The worst fate she could imagine was losing her ship. It was incredibly rare to lose an interstellar ship, but it did occasionally happen. Trillions of dollars worth of equipment, hundreds of lives. She would never live it down. It would be the end of her career, and a shame she didn’t think she could bear.
It took effort to shake off the doubts and focus on the task at hand.
“Crew of the C.S.F. Ramses,” she said, her voice broadcast on every speaker throughout the ship. “This is your new commander, Paula Mercer. Some of you may know that I’ve been partnering with your ship as the senior officer on the EAS throughout the Swarm crisis. It is my great honor to now serve as your commander. I have no doubt that we will continue the excellent work this great vessel is known for. I have faith in the officers and crew to be a shinning beacon during this dark time for the Colonial Space Fleet. We shall not only fulfill our duties, but we shall make a difference in the struggle against the largest threat to the expansion of humanity across the galaxy that we have ever encountered. Make no mistake, I expect the best from each and everyone aboard this ship. Just as I shall strive to be give my best as your commander. Thank you for your warm welcome to the Ramses. We can now focus on the task at hand, defeating the Swarm. That is all.”
The communications officer ended the ship wide announcement, as the officers on the bridge gave a polite round of applause. Paula nodded, then sat down in the commander’s chair. She had several touch sensitive screens on either arm of the large, swiveling seat. She laid her palm on one screen and it came to life, scanning her biometrics, then activating the other screens.
WELCOME COMMANDER MERCER was illuminated on the communications portion of the chairs multi-function controls. She swiped the welcome message, sending it away and saw that every division of the ship was in the green.
“Bring up the plot, please,” Mercer ordered the helmsman. A large video screen showed their position on the north wall. There were no individual posts directly in front of the command chair between Paula and the large screen. There was however a holographic projector that came to life, showing the ship’s plot in the system in three dimensions. Unlike the plot on the screen, which showed the various ships, satellites, and space stations as icons with names, the holograph showed the actual shapes of each vessel.
“Very good,” Mercer said. “Unless I tell you otherwise, the plot is the default setting and should remain on at all times.”
“Aye, aye, Commander,” said the navigation officer.
“Communications, do we have word from Colonel Goldman’s battalion on Neo Terra?”
“Yes, communications have been restored, Commander,” the comms officer replied. “Their transport ships have damage from the storm and they’re requesting mechanical assistance from the armada.”
“Have we sent crews down?”
“No commander,” the comms officer replied. “The Battle ARC is semi-functional and is returning the platoon to the Ramses for maintenance and repairs.”
“I made the decision not to send aid,” Lieutenant Commander Brown said from his station. His official place on the bridge was overwatch. He had a secondary control station that could tap into the various other stations as needed, just like the command station. “As you know we aren’t officially part of the task force, and with the Battle A
RC returning to the ship, I thought it best to wait and see how much damage the new drop ship had taken before sending anyone to help on the ground.”
“Very well,” Mercer said, not sure if the decision was right or wrong. She didn’t know her crew yet, or even if they had enough flight mechanics to spare. She would defer her judgement of the decision until later. “What’s the status on that vessel?”
“They’re almost in orbit,” the comms officer said. “Their electrical systems were hit hard during the storm, and they’ve had to bypass their navigation system. We’re sending them telemetry, but we’ll need to have emergency crews standing by once they approach the ship.”
“Alright, let’s get everyone prepped. What’s their ETA,” Mercer asked.
“They just left atmo and will be approaching the Ramses in forty-three minutes,” the navigation officer replied.
“Do we have eyes on the Swarm?” Mercer asked.
“No, Commander,” the weapons officer said. “The storm is blocking the satellite feed.”
“Were the aliens in the path of the storm?”
“No, Commander,” the weapons expert said. “They moved into the cloud cover.”
“But our tracking medium still shows up through the clouds.”
“Yes, Commander, it does. But the electrical storm is distorting the signal. We’ve lost sight of them for the moment.”
Mercer cursed silently, knowing that whoever took her place on the EAS would have a difficult job tracking the crafty aliens down. She pursed her lips but said nothing aloud. She spent half an hour asking questions to the various officers about their specialities. The Ramses was in top shape and was free to focus on learning about her crew. Half an hour after arriving on the bridge she stood up.
“Thank you all for your help. Commander Brown, you have the con.”
“Aye, I have the con,” Brown said.
“I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me,” she informed the others. “Feel free to return to your regular duty rotation.”
Unlike on the Emergency Alert Station, the commander’s office was just off the Bridge instead of in her quarters. Paula went in and sat down in the large executive chair. With the push of a button, it did a fast evaluation of her body size, build, and weight, then used built-in air pumps to adjust the lumbar, height, and tension of the recline feature. She could customize the settings, but she was impressed with how well it adapted to her. She was tall, nearly six feet, and trim. She wasn’t as fit as she had been before the Swarm was spotted on Neo Terra. The stress and business of tracking the elusive aliens had cut into her otherwise predicable fitness routine.
The entire desktop morphed into video screens after a biometric log-in to the system. To her right were the ship’s vital systems; to the left, her personal correspondence. The center was reserved for ship files, including personnel. She opened the files of her senior officers, and began to read about the people she would be working with. A few minutes later, a chime sounded at the door.
“Enter,” Mercer said, glancing up.
Petty Officer Lawrence Potter stepped in, his chef’s hat in hand.
“Welcome to the Ramses commander. I’m your personal steward,” Potter said. “I thought you might like some coffee or tea.”
“Coffee,” Mercer said. “I drink it black, usually. Decaf anytime after 1500 hours ship time.”
“Can do, Commander. However you like it. Just let me know if you need anything. I’ve taken the liberty to put together several sample menus for you to look over. Let me know what dishes you like and any changes you’d prefer. Commander Beauregard liked a southern American slant to his meals, but I can do just about anything you want.”
“What’s your specialty?”
“Soul food ma’am. I’m a bit of an alchemist with spices.”
“Show me what you can do. Just keep in mind I run in the middle when it comes to heat.”
“Oh, yes ma’am. It would be my pleasure to dial it right in to your sweet spot. Just don’t hesitate to let me know what you’d like changed. My goal is to adapt to your palette, not the other way around.”
He saluted, and left the office. A few minutes later the comlink pinged. She pressed the appropriate icon on the desktop.
“Yes?”
“Commander, the Battle ARC has been successfully brought on board the ship,” Lieutenant Commander Brown told her. “The maintenance team is working on the drop ship. The ARC platoon has assembled in their designated Ready Room and are running diagnostics on their suits. I received word that one of their batteries failed during the storm, and there may have been electrical damage to the systems. They’ll know more soon.”
“Very good, thank you.”
She swiped the icon to end the call and went back to reading. Once she finished reading about her senior officers, she opened the files on the ARC platoon. There was only one naval member, Petty Officer Nicole Daniels, a veteran technician with experience in a variety of specialties. The rest of the technicians and one squad of ARC pilots were Air Force. The other pilots were Marines, a special forces fire team led by Second Lieutenant Angela Murphy. There wasn’t a lot in Murphy’s file, just her abbreviated boot camp, OTS, and assignment to the ARC program. The info on the battle in the McDuall mountains hadn’t been added yet.
Mercer decided it was time to meet her special platoon. She brought up a schematic of the ship and found a route down to the ARC Ready Room which was near the hanger bay. She still had a lot to do. The work of getting to know her ship and its crew would take weeks. She would need to settle into her quarters and find a routine that worked with the current rotation schedule. The Ramses was the staging area for most of the space-based work going on in the war with the Swarm, and at the center of it all was the experimental ARC program.
30
C.S.F. Ramses, close orbit,
Neo Terra, Tau Ceti system
Angel was watching as Petty Officer Daniels slowly checked the inseam of her ARC suit. Daniels had a high-powered lamp and a table-mounted magnifying glass over the area she was studying.
“There are no visible tears, but the fibers are scorched,” Daniels said.
“Which means what?” Angel asked.
“I don’t know. We have to run tests?”
“How long will that take?”
“It’s not about how long it will take. It’s about what it might potentially do to your suit.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I can’t say for certain what the integrity of these fibers might be. The only way to find out is to stress them. Worst case scenario is that they burst apart. They’re made to absorb heavy impacts. If you land hard on your shoulder, the kinetic energy spreads through the fabric. If the inseam splits, it will ruin the integrity of the entire suit.”
“Meaning it won’t work?”
“It will still work to a degree. I mean the reflexive soles and palms will still propel you upward, but the impact when you land will be the full brunt of your weight against whatever surface you happen to be on.”
“Can’t you sew it back up?”
“No,” Daniels said. “This isn’t fabric. It takes very special equipment to fuse it together. The fibers have to be aligned perfectly or the kinetic energy will rip it apart.”
“And if you test it, the suit could split and I won’t be able to use it for weeks.”
“That’s right,” she said quietly. “I would have to be sent back to the fabrication facility on earth and it would take days to repair.”
“I understand,” Angel said. “Don’t test it.”
“Lieutenant, I have to point out that it might break apart under stress if you are in combat.”
“I know that.”
“You could die.”
“That’s a possibility every time I go out against the Swarm,” Angel said. “But we both know Nance isn’t ready to fight the aliens, and we don’t have time for me to run back to Earth and get this fixed.”
D
aniels looked concerned but didn’t argue.
“For now, we’ll keep an eye on it,” Angel said.
“My equipment tracks the stress on your suit, but I don’t get a read on the integrity. I may not be able to warn you before it splits.”
“That’s a chance we’ll just have to take.”
The door to the Ready Room swished open. At first no one paid much attention. The Marine fire team had been in and out of the Ready Room since they arrived. Commander Paula Mercer stood in the doorway watching as the technicians ran diagnostics on the ARC suits and their battery coils.
“Officer on deck!” Cash shouted when he glanced up and saw the commander.
Everyone snapped to attention, even Angel. She felt a wave of dread crash over her. There was nothing worse in her mind than leaving a bad impression on a superior officer. She had hoped to meet the ship’s commander at some point, but not covered in grime from duty on Neo Terra.
“As you were,” Mercer said. She turned to Angel. “Where’s Captain Nance?”
“He’s still on Neo Terra,” Angel said. “They decided to stay planet-side rather than risk the flight up with the navigation array down on the drop ship.”
Mercer frowned, but didn’t comment on the platoon leader.
“What officers came up with you?”
“Just me,” Angel said. “My squad, and Petty Officer Daniels. The ARC suits are being checked. My ARC suit was near one of the lightning strikes. The one that shorted out Colonel Goldman’s comms, as a matter of fact. It reacted with my battery coil, which was ruined. We felt it best to check all the suits before we were called into action again.”
“I’m sure that was a wise decision,” Mercer said. “Would you please join me for dinner this evening, Lieutenant. There is a lot I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Certainly, Commander. I’d be honored.”
Battle ARC: ARC Angel Series Book 2 Page 14
