* * *
Loki was a barely visible dot in the shadow of the deep blue gas giant Odin, a dark and diminutive dwarf orbiting in gloomy contrast to the hub-world of Asgard with its sprawling and shimmering metropolises. Loki’s surface looked barren from orbit, but it was actually criss-crossed with a complicated network of valleys and ridges, and its open plains were pockmarked with craters from aeon’s worth of meteor strikes.
The DNI ship slipped quietly into the moon’s atmosphere, its sleek and stealthy hull absorbing almost every ray of light that touched its matte-black surface. It was similar to the material which covered the Spire, and it could defeat almost all known forms of sensor technology. No one and nothing would know it was there.
Just as their intelligence had indicated, the landing pad was 20km away from the actual facility. Concealed in one of the many shallow craters that dotted the moon’s surface, it was equipped with an uplink array and an automated crane system for handling cargo. Officially, there were no settlements or facilities of any kind on Loki, but the landing pad seemed big enough to handle trade for an entire town.
Swooping down low, the DNI ship slowed to a halt above the landing pad and opened the vehicle bay doors on its underside, dropping the Wolverine APC from inside. The anti-gravity plating on the vehicle’s underbelly glowed faintly, slowing its fall to a safe velocity. As the Wolverine touched down on the landing pad, bouncing gently on its suspension, the DNI ship sealed the vehicle bay’s doors again before firing its engines and disappearing back into Loki’s twilit sky.
The 40 tonne armoured vehicle rolled forward and down the landing pad’s ramp onto the moon’s surface. The perfectly smooth surface of the landing pad made it difficult for the Wolverine to move forward on its knobbly wheels, but they found much better purchase on the moon’s crooked terrain. The vehicle began to trundle forward up the side of the crater, following a well-worn path made by countless automated cargo shipments.
The Wolverine’s interior was definitely not built for comfort. Four of the operators – Doran, Ogilvy, Cato, and Bale – were squeezed into the seats, two on each side, facing each other with their weapons secured to their chest plates. The fifth operator, Viker, was in the cockpit guiding the Wolverine along the bumpy path while Gabriel squatted down behind him, holding onto the safety rungs on the ceiling to steady himself.
“ETA: 30 minutes,” Viker announced, “assuming these coordinates are right.”
“And if they’re not?” asked Lieutenant Doran, a heavy-set man with a blond buzz-cut.
“If not, we’ll be driving around in circles until the fuel cell runs out of power.” Viker replied, before adding, “in which case, ETA: one decade.”
There was a round of chuckling – which Gabriel didn’t join – followed by silence as they reached the edge of the crater and climbed up over the ridge. The Wolverine emerged onto a vast plain where it began to pick up speed as it travelled across the empty moonscape, following the indicator in the cockpit’s display. The journey was uneventful until one of the wheels hit a rock, jolting the vehicle’s passengers without warning.
“Ok, I’m taking the wheel on the way back,” Doran complained, “because Viker fucking sucks at driving this thing.”
“Fine by me,” Viker replied, unfazed by the criticism, “as long as I’m the one who gets to bitch in your ear when you crash.”
The squad laughed. Gabriel didn’t. There was silence.
“Speaking of bumpy rides,” Ogilvy broke the silence, “you’d think the DNI could afford to lend us a decent antigravity tank like the Marine Corps has.”
“No good for a mission like this,” Gabriel said, breaking his usual taciturnity, “The antigravity cushion generated by a skimmer-type vehicle is easily detectable. Plus, antigravity levitation beds consume far too much power for a mission like this, they’re also prone to damage and breakdowns. A rolling chassis is far more durable and reliable.”
There was a pause as everyone took this information onboard.
“Our very own Mastermind has spoken.” Cato remarked with an amused smile, eliciting chuckles from the rest of the squad.
“The colonel’s right, by the way.” Viker informed the squad, “I trained on the scout-skimmers and rapid-assault tanks in the Navy. Fricking fast and agile, but they burn through huge amounts of power just to stay off the ground. And the whole piece of levitation tech that keeps them in the air is incredibly fragile; one knock to the underside can short out half the cells. If that happens, the only way forward is straight down.”
“So, it’s good you’re behind the wheel of a tank with wheels.” Bale quipped.
“Easy on the jokes, captain,” Viker replied, “I can’t drive if my sides are splitting.”
The squad laughed again. Gabriel remained silent.
“Why do we say the word ‘wheel’ like that?” Ogilvy pondered aloud, pointing to the holographic interface in the cockpit, “I mean phrases like ‘take the wheel’, ‘asleep at the wheel’. It doesn’t make sense since it’s not an actual wheel.”
“It’s a classical reference.” Gabriel explained, “Primitive vehicles on ancient Earth used a kind of wheel in the cockpit which had to be physically turned by the driver in order to steer. The technology changed, but the metaphors endured.”
There was another spell of silence.
“Don’t remember learning that in school.” Cato remarked, “Just a standard education in between chores around the outpost; then it was off to join the Navy.”
“You’re a colonial too?” Captain Bale asked.
“I think we’re all colonials in here, aren’t we?” Doran wondered.
“Not me,” said Viker proudly, “Asgard Undercity, born and bred. First time I ever left Asgard was to ship out for basic training.”
“You don’t talk like an under-dweller.” Ogilvy remarked.
“Well I can if y’ask me.” Viker replied in Undercity dialect.
“I didn’t understand a word of that.”
“Neither do my fricking in-laws.” Replied Viker, eliciting another round of laughter.
“…What about you, Colonel?” Captain Bale asked, “If you don’t mind me saying, your accent sounds very…standard.”
“It wasn’t always standard,” Gabriel responded, “I used to talk like a ‘fleeking’ flute.”
Gabriel’s response raised eyebrows.
“You’re from the Clouds, sir?” Doran asked, picking up on Gabriel’s word choice.
“Originally, yes.” Gabriel replied.
There was another long spell of silence as the Wolverine made brisk progress across the plain. Instead of a windscreen, the cockpit featured an all-encompassing holographic view of the vehicle’s exterior, giving the visual impression of an open-air cockpit looking out on the starry sky and surrounding landscape. Ahead, the ridgeline loomed large, and a gap in the rocks became faintly visible; a canyon entrance of sorts from which a tiny speck emerged.
A yellow icon began to flash on the holographic interface, signalling the approach of an unidentified object. It was the same speck visible in the distance.
“Contact, dead ahead!” Viker announced, tapping the icon, “looks like a freight hauler.”
“A freight hauler?” Bale asked suspiciously, “why would the base still be getting supplies if it’s out of commission?”
“Supply runs are all automated.” Gabriel pointed out, “If something happened to the staff, then there wouldn’t be anyone around to cancel the shipments. Keep driving.”
Viker kept a steady speed as the speck grew larger and more distinct. It was indeed an automated freight hauler – an AI-controlled sixteen-wheeler flatbed with a single, large cargo container clamped onto the back; Jupiter Engineering Co.’s company logo visible on the side. The freight hauler hurtled past the Wolverine apparently without incident.