“Damn straight there is, Staff Sergeant,” the armorer said, sighing and waving a blinking box over the interior circuits. “I’m going to be deconning this thing all day. Look, I’ve got to pull the motivator circuits; could you get somebody to run down to engineering and ask them for a can of ID Ten T decontaminant?”
“Hell,” Driscoll said. Top had pulled his whole team off on another detail as soon as they got back to the ship. The Wyvern bay was deserted except for himself and the crip. “I’ll go get it. I Dee Ten T, right?”
“Thanks, Staff Sergeant Driscoll,” Lyle said, grimacing in pain as he crawled into the suit. “My back is really acting up.”
Driscoll, cursing under his breath, went to the far end of the compartment and opened up the hatch to the mid level. Dogging the heavy hatch behind him, he climbed down the ladder to the bottom, opened the next hatch, dogged it behind him, climbed down and then headed over to the hatch to engineering maintenance. Which was locked on the other side.
“Hey,” he said, hitting the intercom. “I need some cleaner.”
“Who’s there?” one of the crew asked.
“Staff Sergeant Driscoll, Second Platoon,” Driscoll said. “I need some ID Ten T decontaminant.”
“Maulk, we don’t keep that here.” The hatch was opened to reveal a short, hairy mechanic. “The locker for that’s up by the torpedo room. Ask Red. But you’re going to need radiation gear.”
“What?” the staff sergeant asked, his eyes blinking.
“Stuff’s radioactive as hell,” the machinist’s mate said, sucking his teeth. “You’re going to have to suit up.”
“We’re going to put radioactive stuff in my suit?” Driscoll asked, confused.
“Hey, welcome to the Space Marines,” the machinist mate said, leading him into the compartment. “The radiation and the neenions counteract each other. Your suit will be clean when they’re done. Heck, if we could figure out a way to generate neenions, we’d have a way to decontaminate anything. Unfortunately, they’re only found around buttumium and there’s no way to, like, bottle ’em.”
The machinist mate had gotten out a heavy rubber suit complete with respirator.
“You’re probably gonna want to strip to put this on,” he said. “It’s a hot mothergrapper.”
“How do I get to the torpedo room?” Driscoll asked when he had the, yes, hot suit on.
“First, you’re gonna need the tongs,” he said, handing over a set of heavy metal tongs. “They’re to carry the ID Ten T container. Now, to get to the torpedo room, you’re going to have to pass through the conn. First, go up to the third level in Sherwood Forest…”
The giant gas giant above, the blue and white planet they circled, reflected light from the gas giant lighting up the clouds below… Weaver never tired of the sight. So even though it was late in his shift and he should be doing paperwork, he was sitting in the CO’s chair staring at the forward viewscreen when there was a buzz at the hatch to the bridge.
He looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened as the COB passed a man wearing a full rubber decontamination suit into the conn. The man walked through to the far hatch, passing tactical and pilot as he went, then exited.
“COB,” Weaver said. “I have to admit I’m new to this game…”
“He’s going up to the torpedo room for some ID Ten T decontaminant, sir,” the COB said solemnly.
“ID Ten T?” Weaver said, nodding. “What’s it used for?”
“Neenion particle contamination, sir,” the COB said. “It’s radioactive, thus the suit. And the tongs, sir. Don’t forget the tongs.”
“Uh, huh,” Weaver said. “Think the CO is awake, yet?”
“Should be, sir,” the COB said. “And had his first cup of coffee.”
“And I’m guessing he’d like to see this, wouldn’t he?”
“That would be my guess as well, sir,” the COB said solemnly.
“ID Ten T, huh? Neenions. Why not weenions?”
“A bit obvious, sir,” the COB said reproachfully.
“You must be Red,” Driscoll said angrily, when he finally reached the designated area.
“They said you wanted…” Red paused and gulped. “The ID Ten T decontaminant.”
“If you don’t mind,” Driscoll said, trying to rein in his anger. He was angry and it had been a long walk, and climb, to here.
“Okay,” Red said, pointing to the locker and backing away. “It’s in there.”
“Great,” Driscoll said, pulling open the locker. The only thing in it was a glass flask filled with a red glowing liquid. “How in the hell am I supposed to carry this on a ladder?”
“Carefully,” Red said, stepping through a hatch. “Drop that and break it and it’ll flood the whole ship with radiation.”
“Grapp,” Driscoll said, carefully lifting the container out with the tongs. “Why in the hell is it in glass then?”
“Oh, and it will probably eat a hole in the ship,” Red said from around the corner. “It’s one of the strongest acids known to man.”
“Grapp me,” Driscoll whined, carefully backing around and heading back to the missile room. “Can you help me with the hatch?”
“Not on your life. Specially not on mine.”
“Neenion contamination, huh?” the CO said, leaning way over in his chair as the staff sergeant passed.
“Yes, sir,” Driscoll said nervously.
“Drop that in my ship and you’re going to be breaking rocks for the rest of your life.”
Driscoll finally made it back to the missile room and cautiously set the container down on the deck.
“Great,” Lyle said, picking it up and sloshing some onto his hand. “This is just the thing.”
“Wait!” Driscoll said. “That’s radioactive!”
“Yeah, but the neenions counteract it!” Lyle said, cheerfully rubbing some onto the surface of the motivator module. “See?” he continued, taking a taste of his finger.
“Tastes like… sugar water,” the armorer added, grinning. “Try writing it out with the number, Staff Sergeant Driscoll. I-D-1-0-T.”
“Oh, you son of a—” Driscoll said, ripping off the respirator. “I’m going to…”
“You’re going to what, Staff Sergeant?” the first sergeant said, coming around the side of the missile tube and leaning up against it.
“Top, I cannot believe that you have—” Driscoll said, furiously. “This is an insult to my dignity as an NCO!”
“Walk with me, Driscoll,” the first sergeant said, waving towards the far end of the compartment. “Walk with me, as the Disciples once walked with the Lord God. And perhaps open up your ears…”
26
“I don’t see how we can do a humble approach,” Dr. Beach said.
“The manual calls for making contact away from major civilization,” the XO pointed out. “Appendix Sixty-Seven.”
“We could set down well off position and march overland to make contact,” Dr. Beach said. “But that would have us contacting peripheral leadership. If we’re going to make serious contact with these civilizations, determine their real technological and social advancement, we’ll need to contact primary leadership. I’d say that a reasonably close approach to one of the major cities, while it has issues, is a better choice.”
“Like riots,” Captain MacDonald said. “Crowds. Attack by local military forces or mobs.”