D.S.S. tech, second, met us. “lieutenants, I’m Weibling, habitability systems tech. We need to get you fitted for armor. Commander Morgan said to get that out of the way.”
Space armor? That meant deep-space ops—or ops in adverse habitability. Or both.
“You don’t know where we’re headed, do you?” I figured he wouldn’t know, but sometimes the techs know more than officers.
“No, sir. We get the equipment parameters. That’s all. I can tell you that you’ll be handling everything from near absolute to perihelion hot, and mostly with no atmosphere. Grav range is from null to one-point-five Tee.”
Braun frowned.
“Thank you.” I managed a smile.
“This way, lieutenants, if you would.”
We dropped back slightly.
“They’ve found an artifact planet Forerunner or alien,” Braun murmured. “Or an abandoned colony with something special about it.”
“Has to be hard to land mere, then. Wouldn’t need us, otherwise.”
She nodded.
We didn’t say more. Followed Tech Weibling. Suit measurements took less than half stan. When we got back to the training bay, Morgan was motioning from the far end.
“Commander wants us,” Braun said.
“Hope not.” Wondered how she’d take the double entendre.
“He wouldn’t. He’s old-style D.S.S., and we’re his subordinates. That’s bad form and worse discipline.”
“Were you ever D.S.S.?”
“Gagarin Academy—one very long tour after that. I swore I’d never come back.”
Promise like that always bites back. Learned that a long time ago. Closet Covenanter once told me God has a sense of humor. Never believed in God. Universe as it is can be rough enough without a deity to mess it up worse.
We moved briskly but didn’t rush.
The commander stood before a long cylinder with an open hatch. Inside was a shuttle cockpit. Even from ten meters away, I could see it had a board like I’d only seen once before, and that was when I was ferrying mining supplies down to Toomai.
“We only have one simulator here, but that should be more than enough.”
“How many shuttle pilots will you be giving fams to, Commander?” asked Braun.
“D.S.S. is sending four former civilians, including you two. I’m a backup, and so is Major Tepper. We can handle the mission with two shuttle pilots, and two backups.”
Four shuttle pilots for a ship? How big was the frigging thing? Dreadnought?
“The captain has also requested that, after you’re up to speed on the shuttles, you two also receive basic familiarization and some simulation training on handling the Magellan.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” asked Braun, “but why us?”
“The captain is a cautious woman. She also said that while you two valued yourselves above anything, that same pride would keep you from selling out to anyone and anything, including fear and disaster.” Morgan offered a smile that looked easygoing. It wasn’t.
More I heard, more it seemed like a bastard job.
“How big is the Magellan, sir?” Finally had to ask.
Morgan grinned. “Bigger than anything you’ve seen, Lieutenant She’s a former colony ship, reconfigured with double dreadnought drives. She’s also armed like a battle cruiser.”
Knew it was a bastard job.
Morgan cleared his throat “Lieutenants, you’ll both need full medicals. That’s so we’ve got baselines in case of emergencies or injuries. Braun—you head to medical now. Your first turn in the simulator will be around eleven hundred. While you’re in the simulator, Chang will have her medical.”
“Yes, sir.” Braun nodded, then stepped back.
Morgan waited until she was well away. Turned to me. “I’ve heard you’re the hottest thing since Chatzel.” He snorted—loud. “You may be one of the best shuttle pilots in the Comity, Chang, or even the very best but you’ve never seen a shuttle like this. Learning how to pilot it is going to take everything you have.” He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t have to. Cut like a focused singularity.
Reminded myself I was getting paid star-class, even if I had to wear blue skintights, with the dark gray D.S.S. ship vest and shorts—and the shiny silver shoulder stripes that said I was an officer. Didn’t feel like one. “Yes, sir. Must be a special shuttle.”
“Very special, Lieutenant. You’ve got chem-jets, photon-thrusters, and AG drive. With the AG drive you’ll be able to lift off and land on any planet up to one-point-six Tellurian with full gross.”
“No magfield drives?” That surprised me.
“Where we’re headed lost its magnetic field a long time ago, and we might be able to use the extra cargo capability.”
That said old. Old enough that there couldn’t be much living there. “Any armament?”
“You know how to handle it?”
“I’ve had torp training, and some background in close-in particle beams.”
“Good.” He frowned. “That wasn’t on your record.”
Lots not on my record. Didn’t want it there. The more that’s there, the more they can claim you screwed up, that you should have known better.
“What else isn’t there?”
“Had a course in commando hand-to-hand, once. Bare and in armor.” Wished I hadn’t said that soon as I did. Bust some jerk’s balls, and they see commando training in the file, and you’re a mankiller. Rather claim accidental self-defense. “Just a short course. Never rated.”
“I don’t believe that. You like ratings too much.”
“Wouldn’t rate me.” That much was true.
“I see. What else?”
“Little things you pick up everywhere. How to jury a bad board, that sort of thing.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that. Everything’s new. You’ve got standard pilot links?”
“Yes, sir. Still star-class.” He’d known that before he’d asked. Hadn’t been able to use links on McClendon.
Straight manual. Equipment there was too old. A mal-link’d be so painful the best pilot couldn’t think straight. Even me.
“Good. Go ahead and strap in. You’d be wearing armor, but that’ll come once Weibling gets them ready.”
“Yes, sir.” Couldn’t wait for that. Working a shuttle in armor, even without gauntlets and helmet, is a frigging pain. Hot, too. Even hotter in a simulator.
Climbed in the simulator, and closed the hatch. Manual style. Inside center was standard, except for the armament panel to the left and the crimson-edged panel to the right of the joystick. Overhead panels had all the extras.
Controls were optimum manual. Millennia back, when nanotech and minimicrotronics first came in, the designers tried direct mind link—minimal physical controls. Then came the Dirty War, and all the mental-link pilots got hammered, blasted, dismembered, by the Gallian Unity pilots on manual controls. Took almost ten years to figure out why. Seemed simple enough to me. Humans are optimized to do things. You train a pilot with brains and reflexes. Reflexes let you do one thing physically while your mind does something else.
Every study ever done shows that humans don’t mental multitask without losing efficiency. Women tend to do it better, but still get clobbered in combat by physical controls. Best deep-space combat pilots tend to be spatially oriented women on mixed controls—or artistic men. Macho males come off worst. Really pisses ‘em off.
Triggered the links.
Online.
Stet. Morgan came through clear, just like his voice. Your call sign will be Tigress.
Wasn’t amused by that. For simulation training?