“I wish I still had the Clever Dream. Her computers have all the data recorded from the whole experience. I have my conversation with Zarrix on my command unit, but the extra data would help, especially the more detailed scans of the hold.”
“Well, we'll broadcast your conversation on our way out of ports. That'll also get it on the Stellarnet. Maybe someone will listen.”
“Hopefully. I just can't get over the fact that I gave Zarrix everything he needed to inspire his people to go to war.”
“How could you have known?”
“You're right, I couldn't have, but if I had destroyed the evidence once I found out what it was it could have stopped there. I was just too afraid.”
“Would you have survived it?”
“Probably not, but if I were braver thousands, maybe even millions could have been saved.”
“I can't blame you for wanting to get out of there, I would have done the same myself. This isn't your fault, the people who ran these experiments and tried to profit from them are responsible. If what the exile told you is right, that's where it started. Besides, what if you tried to destroy the evidence and failed? Then you'd be dead and there'd be no one to warn people about this.”
Alice looked to him expectantly. He had never seen her appear so vulnerable.
“No, you did exactly what you should have. Now you're here and we can spread the word. Besides, if you didn't make the choice you did you wouldn't be here, I would still be looking for you,” he smiled at her warmly. “I'd still be out here searching for a daughter I'd never find.”
Alice sighed and smiled back at him, she couldn't help it. “Thank you Jake, I needed to hear that.”
“Any time. Just don't tell the crew I have a soft spot,” there was that smile again, open, warm, welcoming. The memory of it would help her through the days to come.
Two Hours To Hyperspace
The gunnery crew, all two hundred and eighty three of them assigned to the upper deck, stood in ranks in front of Chief Shamus Frost in shoulder to shoulder lines. The loaders and heavy suits were all at the rear wearing their two meter tall combat armour. Mechanics stood a meter ahead of them and the gunners were lined up down on one knee at the front. All eyes were on the Gunnery Chief.
Frost didn't use an amplification unit, proximity radio or his comm when the deck was quiet. His eyes scanned from one end of the line to the other, inspecting, looking for flaws in uniforms and gear that was simple, easy to get right and even easier to find flaws in. “Close your collar Bowes!” he barked. The gunner clasped the high collar of his dark grey vacsuit, as did a couple other members of the large team.
He nodded to himself. “What you can learn in a simulation is amazin'. You've learned ta work with the lower deck guns, some of you have learned how to arm, disarm an' reconfigure torpedo systems, an' others have even learned how to service a turret while half the barrels are firin'. Only twenty three washed out, now that's impressive. I expect ta send another twenty off my gunnery deck before the next hour is up since a simulation cannot teach you how ta manage yer fear,” he bellowed like it was the only way he knew how to speak. His salt and pepper stubble made him look much older than he was, and even though he was shorter than average with a squat build he seemed tall at a distance. His back was straight, his gaze ran up and down the line making eye contact with everyone as he went.
“A long time ago I looked to my father and told him that I'd be signin' up for a gunnery crew. He took me aside an' said; 'gunnery crews pay for their victories, their losses and their failures round by round. We're what's left over when Fleet's taken all the better men an' women inta service as pilots, engineers, general maintenance, comm officers, navigators, deck hands, infantry an' even damage control grunts. They look at the bottom of the barrel and see if the sludge can be trained to shoot, load or climb into a killing machine an' get it firing again. If someone can't be on a gunnery team, they can't serve anywhere else.' He was tryin' to tell me not to start beneath the bottom, an' when I didn't listen he showed me this.”
Shamus pressed a button on his arm length command and control unit and a two meter tall hologram appeared between him and the gunnery team. The view was from behind a much older turret. It was beat up, some parts were replaced through hasty but solid welding and it was built into the side of a ship, not installed in the top. The armoured suit the loader wore was showed signs of age and extreme wear and tear as well.
The armoured loader ran from another turret further down the line to stop at the one in the foreground. The paired guns were still blazing as one of the magazine wells slid back empty. The loader crewman reached to his right and took a three ton magazine of rounds from a leaning rack and transferred it to the empty well then flipped a large latch on the top of it so he could pull the magazine casing free.
When he pulled the empty magazine casing out of the well, leaving the rounds loaded inside, one round rolled out. He put the empty casing, a large, bottomless rectangular box, onto another rack to be reloaded then picked up the loose round.
Frost paused the playback. “What do we do here Acheson?”
“We put it into a safe waste container for matter recycling,” Acheson called the answer out.
Frost resumed the holographic playback. The loader placed the round into the large magazine well and the box closed on his armoured arm up to the elbow. In one swift motion the rounds were put in play and as the turret continued to fire most of the armoured limb was pulled right into the workings of the machine.
Most of the gunnery crew cringed. The crewman had lost his real hand and most of his forearm had been flayed to the bone. Frost paused the image as the crewman activated the emergency seal on his suit instinctively, severing his arm at the elbow.
One of the mechanics to the right turned and vomited. It echoed across the deck and several other crewmen turned green.
“This is the recording my father showed me, the man in the suit is my grandad. He made a bad judgement call on account of an ammo shortage. Within eight milliseconds the consequences of that act were paid. The deck was down one good loader, that turret didn't get repaired until after the battle, an' they had to replace two arms. The arm on that suit, and my grandfather's. He was lucky, damn lucky. Some of you won't be. That's the life, we fight hard, pick our targets like deadeyes because a shot that misses today could take out a civilian in twenty years. That's space out there lads, it's not like firin' planetside. Yer gamblin' whenever you shoot in the dark, odds are long that you'll hit someone or somethin' but when you're not sure, you're doin' harm.”
Chief Frost paused for a moment before going on, letting his point sink in. “I eventually became a loader, then a mechanic an' finally a gunner. I saved so many flyboy asses that they gave me my call sign. I liked that call sign so much I made it my last name. Let me tell you, there's nothin' like seein' a bomber after your ship, markin' it and splitting its hull wide open before it can launch! That kind of victory comes in time, for now if you see an important target, get three sets of eyes on it until it's gone. We don't have fighters, we don't have other ships watchin' our backs, but we do have the best gunnery deck this side of the Sol System, and a crew that did in five days what I thought we'd need a month for.
Be quick, be careful, be sure of your targets. Every decision you make matters. We're sendin' ammo into space, you don't know who you're killin' if you miss. Today we take this practice shoot, the Captain and the deck hands below were nice enough to provide us with a whole bunch of targets just floatin' out there. You'll learn to fear these machines first, an' someday that fear will turn into respect. Now get to yer stations an' let's do this by the numbers. Remember to watch everything going on in every direction or these machines will eat you alive. Triton!” he shouted at the end of his instructions.