Week 10 Summary (August 13-18 , 2002)

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"Oof," McGregor said quietly to herself, nestled once again in the belly of the Bigeye ATMP that was slung under Lieutenant Gunther's Lancer, Swallow One. This catapult launch wasn't any better than the last, and her stomach lurched as Gunther rocketed the interceptor into position.

"Looks clear," Cortez's gravelly voice said from Thrush One.

"From here as well," the flight controller declared. "You are cleared to move into position."

"Roger that, Flight Control," Gunther returned, disappointed that Wickter was apparently not on duty. He activated another menu on his cockpit screens. A tactical map appeared showing the designated waypoint. "Thrush One, let's move out standard burn to Waypoint Alpha. ETA ninety-four minutes."

"McGregor," Gunther called down. "You should also be able to call up our destination waypoint on your interface. Are you sure about the distance being sufficient to reduce danger to the Fierce? I mean, we don't want to instigate an epidemic of melanoma."

"My dear Lieutenant Gunther," McGregor replied, "what are you talking about? Weren't you paying attention in the briefing? Or were you fixated too much on the junior steward's legs? We're not moving away from the Fierce to avoid frying our crewmates. We're moving away from the Fierce to avoid interference from its electronic suite. In any case, I'm more concerned about frying the civilians aboard the sled. They're not locked down at battle stations in protectively shielded combat space suits. Okay, so our boys and girls aren't either, but they can be in a pinch."

Gunther chuckled. "I am very sure that you have all this technical stuff worked out," Gunther consoled, "and, for the record, I was paying attention, to both the junior steward's legs and the briefing." Gunther smiled.

Harry emerged from the men's dorm, freshly changed into exercise gear. Waiting for the elevator to arrive he tapped out a short message on his datapad.

To: Corporal Kerin La Rue. Busy at the moment? Meet you at the gym. Sergeant Harry Mandrake.

A few minutes later, Harry entered the small but well-equipped gymnasium and found Corporal La Rue waiting for him. Dressed in a tank top and pair of tight exercise shorts, the woman's incredible physique was on display. Drugs or not, her sculpted body was the result of long hours in the weight room. She greeted the man with a nod of her head, then said, "I'd just gotten here when I got your message, Sergeant. What's up?"

Harry glanced at La Rue with mixed feelings. Perhaps this was an even stupider idea than he'd thought. Too late to back down now though. "You mentioned sparring before, and I was thinking I could do with some exercise right now. What you do reckon?"

La Rue sized the man up and smiled. "Hell yeah." Her grin widened as she walked to the mat. "I'll try to go easy on you, sir."

Harry went through some warm up exercises and reviewed his strategy. Holds and throws were difficult maneuvers under light gravity, but going head to head with La Rue offensively was obviously suicidal. Probably his best option was concentrate on avoiding or blocking her attacks and waiting for a chance to pin or throw her. "Ready?" he asked, turning to face his opponent and taking up seigan, a basic Aikido stance.

"Let's go," La Rue declared, raising her hands and bouncing slightly on her feet. She immediately began slowly circling her opponent, looking for an opening. Harry saw that her right fist was cocked back for a powerful blow -- one punch might do it if she connected, and he knew it. The pair sparred for a few moments, La Rue moving forward on the attack, Mandrake backward, very conscious of the way she'd loaded her right hand.

After a number of ineffectual feeling-out exchanges, Harry decided to try and lure La Rue into over-extending herself. Providing an opening for the woman, he hoped she'd seize it and put herself off balance. She did both in spades, firing her right fist like a hammer towards Mandrake's chin.

Sidestepping, Harry ducked the blow and grabbed the woman's extended arm. An instant later he'd twisted it around and was preparing to apply a joint lock when La Rue, grunting loudly in the effort, fought off the attack with a burst of raw brawn. Ripping her arm free, the muscular woman stumbled a few steps before catching herself and spinning to face her foe.

"You're faster than you look, Sergeant," the woman commented between short, measured breathes, eyeing him with a little more respect.

Mandrake said nothing, keeping his distance and looking for a weakness to exploit. Clearly he wasn't going to overpower the woman, and grappling with her played directly into her hands. He blocked a powerful but errant swing, then attempted to sweep La Rue's legs out from underneath her with a stiff hook kick. It didn't work -- La Rue's leg was like a piece of steel, and she grinned at the Sergeant's ineffectual attack.

His foot smarting, Harry moved back a little and readied himself for the barrage that La Rue's body language warned him was coming. Sure enough, seconds later La Rue launched a furious series of knees, punches and attempted grapples as Mandrake blocked, dodged and otherwise avoided each her attacks. Frustrated, the blonde marine growled and leapt towards her sergeant with the intent of tackling him to take him down. Misjudging the lighter gravity the ship was under with one of its engines out, La Rue sailed past her target and landed in a face-down sprawl on the floor next to the mats.

Harry stopped and waited at the edge of the mat. "You okay La Rue?" he asked of his fallen opponent.

The woman rolled to her feet and immediately adopted a fighting stance as though she hadn't fallen at all. Her face was a little red, however, as she replied, "I'm fine, sir. Thrown off by this light gravity, I think."

Harry stepped back to the center of the mat, determined to throw La Rue as quickly as possible. The longer this dragged out the greater chance there was that she would be able get past his defense and land a solid hit. As La Rue approached he feinted a punch with his left hand, hoping her counterattack would leave her open to a throw to his right.

La Rue swatted away Harry's feint, then closed the distance and tried to grapple with the man. With deft footwork, Mandrake surprised her by moving forward to meet her advance and grabbing one of her arms before rotating in an effort to throw the muscular woman. La Rue came part-way off the ground, but just managed to avoid being thrown, leaving the pair in close quarters, each straining and fighting for leverage and position. La Rue's superior strength eventually won out, and Mandrake found his arms trapped at his sides as he was lifted from the ground in a crushing bear-hug. Her hands locked behind the Sergeant's back, La Rue increased the pressure and grunted out, "Got you, Sarge!"

Harry's only reply was a gasp as the air was forced out of his lungs as he concentrated on trying to slid downwards and out of La Rue's grasp. Her grip, however, was not to be broken. He could possibly get his left hand free, but this still left him with nowhere to go. "You... win... La Rue," he managed as his shoulders came alarmingly together.

The blonde, brawny marine released her squad leader immediately, dropping him back onto the mat. Running a hand through her tangled hair, she returned, "Good match, sir, you're pretty wily. Two out of three?"

"Sure," Harry replied. "Just give me a second to get my breath back. Nice hold you have there."

La Rue shrugged her powerful shoulders, exposed as they were by her tank-top. "Took me long enough to grab hold of you. Just let me know when you're ready to go, sir."

A minute or two later, Mandrake and La Rue fell into fighting stances again, circling one another, looking for an opening. As they sparred, knocking each others' feints and scouting strikes harmlessly aside, several other people who'd been using equipment in the gym gathered to watch the match.

Noticing several marines amongst the spectators, Harry strengthened his resolve not to embarrass himself. As long as can I hold out against La Rue at least for a while I should be okay, he though to himself. Stepping forward, he tried a low sweep to get La Rue off balance before she could make an attack.

Not expecting her opponent to go on the offensive, La Rue landed on her back with considerable force and a surprised expression on her face. Harry was on the woman quickly, and after several seconds of furious ground-fighting, had worked himself into a position where leverage could offset the woman's superior strength. Red-faced and sucking wind, La Rue looked to be contemplating drastic measures to break Harry's hold before good sense told her that the round was over.

"I'll give," she finally grunted.

A smattering of cheers and claps sounded from the small crowd, and as the pair got to their feet and took a moment to recover, Harry caught sight of Ellis and Brinks. Ellis snuck her Sergeant a thumbs-up gesture just as the two marines squared off again.

"Winner take all," La Rue grinned, moving slowly around her foe. Mandrake simply nodded, then deflected a flurry of strikes as La Rue quickly bore down on him. Pushed to the edge of the mat, he dove into a tidy roll and popped up behind his opponent -- just in time to get struck in the face by a spinning backhand. It wasn't full-strength by any means, but it did sting. The woman's follow-up attack was a much more immediate issue, as she came after the Titanian with a fury. The crowd cheered and whistled as the two fighters went at it tooth and nail, La Rue on the attack, Harry defending and sometimes counter-attacking. Though Harry didn't have La Rue's bulk or definition, he was nevertheless in tip-top condition, and neither showed real signs of fatigue as the seconds wore on into minutes.

One advantage Mandrake did have was that La Rue was becoming increasingly frustrated while he was keeping his cool. The woman's eyes had grown dark and hostile, and she boxed the man into one corner of the mat before making her move -- a charge, directly at her superior.

Harry huffed with the impact, and was thrown off the mat where he landed painfully in a heap next to an unused exercise machine. La Rue was there in a moment, but rather than offering to help her Sergeant up, she looked to be ready to continue the fight.

Harry made a mental check for any serious injuries then stood with a grunt of pain. He eyed the rowing machine directly to his left and counted himself lucky.

La Rue came at the man and threw a hard right at his side. Caught off guard, Harry blocked as well as he could and staggered back. "Let's keep it on the mat, La Rue," he said mildly.

La Rue blinked and ceased her attack. "Oh, right. Sorry, sir," she apologized.

Harry made his way back onto the mat and circled around until there was open space behind him. He didn't want to end up with a back full of metal if La Rue charged him again. Or La Rue for that matter, if he managed to avoid the attack. "Okay, let's go," he offered.

La Rue charged again, but this time grappled with the smaller man rather than tackling him. Both marines showed impressive hand-to-hand skills as they fought toe-to-toe, each trying for a hold that would allow them the leverage to put their opponent down. Solid footwork and experience finally won out, and Mandrake finally flipped his opponent, sending her to the mat inverted. Incredibly, the woman grabbed her foe by the shirt and pulled him along with her. The duo went down together, a surprised Harry landing atop La Rue, his head near her feet. The two fought for position on the ground, and though she was on the bottom, La Rue gained the advantage. Her powerful legs hooked around Mandrake's shoulders, locking behind his neck and pressing his face to the mat as at the same time she seized one of the man's legs in a vice-like grip.

Breathing hard but smiling, La Rue panted, "Got you... again... sir... don't make me... bust off this little... chicken leg..."

"Little chicken leg!?" Harry wasn't about to let that one go without a fight. Fighting for all he was worth, the overmatched marine struck La Rue with a series of blows to her chest and sides with his free knee and fists. None of them where particularly hard, but Harry hoped they'd be enough to distract the woman.

La Rue merely smiled as Mandrake peppered her with blows, and then tightened her grip and started turning the man's leg. "Time to say uncle, chicken legs," she laughed.

Once again, Lieutenant Valkurie was woken from his half-slumber. He'd been noticing that he was finally beginning to feel a little better -- that it didn't hurt as much to move his limbs. Though the painkillers in the goo were keeping most of the pain at bay, he'd still noticed that even moderate movements were to be, for the time being, avoided. He was woken this time, however, not gently by a woman's voice, but rather by a steady thumping on the glass of the regen tank and an insistent, "Hey! You awake in there?"

Cracking his eyes, which immediately stung as thick liquid washed over them, Valkurie could make out two shapes -- one tall, one short. He didn't recognize them, but they looked to be two members of the deck crew by their dress.

"Yo... hey..." Vice said sleepily. The painkillers were really making him sleepy now. "I'm awake, or what passes for it. What time is it?"

"Just past 1600," a voice said.

"Time for a dose of reality, flyboy," another added. The owner of that voice leaned closer to the tank. Vice recognized the man, but didn't immediately recall his name. Booper? Goober?

"We've been hearing that you've got designs on Private Babette Moore," the other man, the shorter one, said, also coming closer and into focus.

"And we don't like it. Babette's currently embroiled in an inner struggle over which one of us to date -- we don't need some hotshot ace pilot messing things up just when she's about to pick me."

The two men looked at one another. "She is not!" the shorter one declared.

"She is," the taller retorted. "Anyway, that's not what we're here to discuss." Puffing himself up, safe in the knowledge that Vice was in no condition to come busting out of the tank, he added, "Are we clear, pilot?"

I was woken up for this? Vice thought to himself. He had to laugh, but not too loudly. "My dear shipmates. Babette is indeed a fine prize. But victory would be much sweeter if she were to pick one of us over the rest when there are so many eligible bachelors to choose from. Think how you would feel should she pick you Looger over Buggy or myself." Vice couldn't resist playing with them. "Of course I have heard that there are others going after her as well. They don't stand a chance however. I know Babette very well and my strategy is unbeatable because of this."

"It's 'Booger,'" Private Panoz corrected.

"And 'Loogie,'" Tanaka added.

"Of course it is. My bad." Vice apologized for his deliberate mistake. Why they would want to be called Booger and Loogie was beyond him.

"And so you are after Babette!" Booger exclaimed.

"Of course he is -- but never mind that," Loogie said, "what's this unbeatable strategy?!"

Vices relationship to Babette was none of their business neither was whether he was pursuing her or not. He could only imagine these two pestering Babette. She probably didn't need it. "Too bad you two don't realize that she finds guys that ignore her very attractive."

Panoz and Tanaka were silent for a moment.

"Really?" Tanaka finally asked.

"No, of course not!" Panoz answered, swatting his friend on the side of the head. "Don't be stupid! Why should we believe him?"

"Hey!" Loogie complained. "Quit it! And why should I believe you? I think you're just trying to convince me not to ignore her so you can ignore her and get her attention!"

"That's ridiculous."

"You're ridiculous!"

"No, I'm going to win Babette -- and it won't be by ignoring her."

"You're lying -- I can always tell when you're lying! You're going to ignore her!"

"No, I'm going to ignore you. Starting right now." Panoz crossed his arms and adopted a neutral expression. "This is me, right now, ignoring you."

"Stop that!" Tanaka demanded. A few seconds later, when his friend didn't react, he raised his voice. "Stop it, I said! Stop ignoring me!"

"Sorry, can't comply. I'm ignoring you."

Red-faced, Loogie stamped one of his feet. "Oh for -- this is all your fault!" he stabbed a finger at Valkurie's bemused face. "Make him stop ignoring me!"

"What did I do?" the pilot asked with feigned innocence. These two were really beginning to amuse him. They reminded him of a certain comedy duo whose trideos he used to watch when he was younger. "Okay, okay. I will talk with him."

"Bogey." he started, deliberately mispronouncing Panoz' nickname. "Can we talk for a second?"

Cyan grumphed her way over to the comm panel in her quarters, having just been woken up by an incoming call. "Cyan," she said curtly, running a hand through her short hair to straighten it a little after her nap.

"Private, this is Captain Delacroix. I wanted to commend you and Corporal Orr for assisting Officer Zieg. That was some good work. I have another task for you, if you're up for it."

"Thank you, ma'am," Cyan said, not beaming as much as she normally would, due to the haze still fallen over her mind from sleep. "Of course I'd be available for additional duties."

"We need a pilot on that sled once we've gotten the situation under control. I was going to send Eroll or Poulo, but it's been brought to my attention that you're a better candidate because of the security concerns we're faced with. Do you feel comfortable suiting up and going over there?"

Private Cyan twisted her face up a bit, squirming a little, and said, "I actually suggested that Eroll go, ma'am, but Lieutenant McGregor seemed intent on my involvement. If you want me to go, I'll do my best. I won't let the ship down. But, if you think Jan or Poulo should go, because they're more experienced, I'll understand."

"I'm sure you'll be up to the task, Private Cyan. Be ready for the call to come in the next six to eight hours -- and remember that your findings are considered secret. Discuss them with no one." The captain's voice lightened. "Any questions, Private?"

"No ma'am," Cyan answered. "But, I do need to know, if I need navigational information, can I contact Corporal Orr? He helped with the trajectory plotting and I think he could be helpful once I get over there. I'm assuming that since he's already in the loop, that it would be okay."

The captain nodded. "Certainly. We'll have Orr standing by to assist you remotely."

"One more thing," Cyan said, looking around her crowded stateroom, "my quarters are being used as the ship's pantry... I know I should bring this up with the ship's steward, but... is this supposed to happen? I mean, I know it's my first tour and I don't really know how everything operates on this ship, but this seems a little weird."

"I'm afraid I don't know anything about that situation, Private. Straighten it out with Pluto and Humbolt or take the matter up with Lieutenant Messier when we have the situation with the sled in hand. Be ready for the call, Private. Delacroix out."

"Swallow One to Fierce," Gunther called out over the comm. "Flight Control, BIGEYE is in position and awaiting instructions."

Swallow One and Thrush One glided silently through space, under minimum thrust. Having reached Waypoint Alpha, the pair had lowered their thrust to match the Fierce's acceleration. The Sled could be seen clearly on Swallow One's sensor display.

"Roger, Swallow One," the flight controller answered. "You are cleared to begin your sensor sweep."

"Swallow One to Thrush One. Cortez, match my acceleration and keep 1000 meters off my starboard. This contraption pumps out a lot of radiation."

"Got it, moving into position," Cortez answered curtly in his gravelly tone.

"It's not that much, Gunther," McGregor replied. "And certainly not for anyone not directly in my line of fire. Such as it is."

Gunther flipped a few switches, adjusting Susan's autopilot. "Well, Lieutenant," Gunther called down to McGregor. "We can start deploying the sensor booms and gizmos anytime you're ready."

"Roger, Gunther. Not too many booms to deploy -- we're not trying to scrub the sky for bogeys this time. Now then..." McGregor peered at some data. "Okay, we launched Drone 1 shortly after departure and it looks like it's in position on the other side of the sled out there. Mm. That's a big ship, isn't it?"

The vessel on McGregor's sensors was big indeed -- fully two kilometers long, by two hundred meters in width. It was an ugly thing, not at all sleek or streamlined. The sleds were big, boxy and utilitarian -- they were build to haul cargo and people cheaply, and they excelled at their task.

"You ever mess with spy equipment, Gunther?" McGregor asked.

"Spy equipment?" Gunther asked unconvincingly. He paused briefly as if thinking of what to say. "Well, let's just say I've seen a lot of movies." He smiled remembering other days. "So educate me," he continued. "Unless it means that you're going to have to kill me."

Explaining, she said, "We've got lasers that can record a spoken conversation through a wall by measuring how the sound waves vibrate said wall. Same principle here, just at a wildly different scale and a different context. We and that drone have seismic scanning lasers we'll run over the surface of the hull. We'll build up a coarse, three-d map of hull vibrations and fit those to a model of ship composition and known equipment. The strongest vibrations will be from the drives and the power plant, on which we happen to have very detailed information. Secondary vibrations will come from the ship's internal plumbing. We subtract those two regimes out from our model leaving behind the more interesting stuff. Personnel movements, for example. Of course, all of this requires us to have a detailed model on the internal structure and composition of the ship. We're basically doing inverse seismology, after all."

"Huh?" Cortez broke in.

"Inverse seismology," McGregor repeated. "Forward seismology uses the propagation of sound waves through a body to map its internal structure. It's how we first learned what Earth looks like on the inside. By measuring sound waves generated by tectonic movement and the like, we were able to build up a structural map of the planet. In that case, we know where the sound waves are originating and we know where we're receiving them. From that, we deduce structure. In this case, with inverse seismology, we know the structure and we know where we receive the waves. These enable us to determine the waves' origins. Unfortunately, we don't always have the requisite structure of the target while in the field. We might have a general idea of the layout of a Constantinople, for example, but with no information on how much fuel it carries or which of its water tanks are full and which are empty, transforming the surface vibrations on the hull to a three-d map of internal troop movement is problematic. That's where the more exotic and potentially hazardous equipment comes into play."

McGregor checked the status of the drone. Still good. "We can refine our internal model of the ship by bombarding it with certain exotic particles and observing both the forward and backscatter. This ATMP does the bombardment and monitors the backscatter. The drone -- on the other side of the target -- monitors the forward-scatter. The particles we use are actually neutrinos generated by your little ship's fusion reactor. Neutrinos don't normally interact with matter much, but when you slow them down enough, they can do some neat tricks. Don't ask me how we slow them down; it's classified and also ridiculously complex. The decelerator is, in fact, the part of this ATMP that we really don't want falling into enemy hands."

"Well," Gunther interjected. "Since you and I are attached to that part as well. We should be highly motivated at keeping it for ourselves."

"Okay," she said, "here's the plan: we need to make two passes minimum to get reasonable data. One pass is for the seismic lasers. The other is for the slow neutrino bombardment. The seismic pass is the most critical one. It would be nice to have the neutrino map, but we can still get a handle on the information the captain wants if we just do the seismic pass. Our first pass will thus be with the lasers. Pass two will be for the neutrinos. It would be nice to get three or four passes for additional seismic data, but let's not push it if we don't have to. Keep your speed up, but not too fast -- we basically want to be moving at least three times faster than a human can, since we're hoping to map human movements, but we don't want to go so fast that we get coarse seismic data. Oh, one other thing: I want some detailed regular, old-fashioned imaging of the sled's drive section. I'll be sending Drones 2 and 3 out for that duty, but if we get the chance, I'd like to loiter in that vicinity and snap a few shots myself."

"Roger," Gunther acknowledged. "we can accommodate you on all counts." Punching up his navigational display menu, the Lieutenant drew a course with his finger across the screen and entered a few numbers. The computer then plotted the solution. "Cortez," Gunther called out. "I'm feeding your navigational systems the plotted course, relative speed and acceleration. Can you run it through your systems and verify? Since we only get one pass, I want to provide what the Lieutenant ordered."

"Just a second," Cortez returned. There was a short pause. "Confirmed, Swallow One. The plot looks good on this end."

"Roger that Thrush One." Calling up a 3D model of the sled on his screen, the navigational systems superimposed the intended flight path over the virtual structure. "This will be tricky," Gunther admits. We'll be cutting velocity, while matching the acceleration of the sled. I'm putting the ship on autopilot. I don't trust performing this
manually."

"Cortez," Gunther called out. "Track with us, but keep your sensors peeled for anything suspicious."

"Roger that Lieutenant," Cortez answered back. "I wouldn't be doing anything less."

"Well, we're ready to proceed then. Let's go," Gunther stated with a bit of command in his voice.

End Week 10 Summary (August 13-18 , 2002)

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ALL SYSTEMS GO is set in Dream Pod 9's Jovian Chronicles universe. Jovian Chronicles, the Jovian Chronicles logo and Silhouette are trademarks of Dream Pod 9, Inc. Exo-armor, Jovian Confederation, CEGA, Silhouette and all other names, logos and specific game terms are (c)1993, 2002; all Jovian Chronicles art and designs are Copyright (c)1994-2002 Dream Pod 9, Inc. No challenge to these copyrights and trademarks is intended.

Except where noted, all original content is copyright 2002 John Guilfoyle, Alistair Gillies, Chris Schaller, Robb Neumann, Dennis Kirkpatrick and Bryan Lee. Page last updated on September 30th, 2002.