Week 2 Summary (June 17-23, 2002)

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In the deserted marine dormitory Sergeant Harry Mandrake slept, secure in the knowledge that all was right with the world.

Valkurie was smiling. "I'm sorry I'm late," he began. He hadn't witnessed the scuffle, but it wasn't difficult to tell what had happened. "Did I miss much?"

Gunther, who was about to answer La Rue, took one look at Vice and groaned, re-administering the napkins over his bleeding nose. He spoke in pained expression, "I godda sit down."

"Now this is a moment." Vice said as Gunther staggered, looking for a seat. "What happened to your nose?"

Gunther just groaned. He's going to be the boil on my ass for the rest of this damn posting, isn't he God, he thought to himself. "It's late Vice," Gunther retorted, muffled under the napkins. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"I was hoping for some late night entertainment but it looks like I missed it." Vice leaned in to get a better look at Gunther and the mass of wet napkins that he held to his face. "Y'know. I think that this is one of the few times that I've seen you all bloodied up and not a scratch on me." The exo-pilot stood up straight and grinned. "This is your idea of a welcoming gift, isn't it. You shouldn't have."

Gunther simply groaned again as Dee Dee helped the wounded pilot sit down, all the while holding the increasingly sopping napkins to the man's nose. "God, La Rue," the little redhead fired off, "I think you broke his nose!"

La Rue looked briefly at the blood on her hand and shrugged her shoulders in exasperation. "Look, I really didn't mean to hit him..." Turning to one of her fellow marines, she commanded, "Give me your shirt, somebody."

Private Brinks complied immediately, pulling off his tank top and revealing his massively muscled torso. He threw the shirt to La Rue, who stooped and pushed Dee Dee and her now ineffectual napkins to the side.

"Hey!" Dee Dee cried, but La Rue ignored her. Holding Gunther by the back of his head with one hand, the marine knelt and administered the shirt to his nose with no small amount of pressure.

"Ow," Gunther exclaimed. "Naut su ard."

"This'll hurt a bit, but it'll stop the bleeding," the big blonde said, unaware that her position was affording the pilot a good look straight down her shirt.

Gunther's eyes appeared to somehow reach around for a better look. He then mumbled something from under the shirt La Rue held over his face.

La Rue frowned. "What?" she asked, pulling the shirt away for a second to inspect the injury.

Wincing his face, Gunther displayed a weak smile. "Hold me a little closer, please?"

The woman's eye twitched again, as it had done before she went after McLean. Placing the shirt back at the pilot's nose (though the blood flow was finally slowing), she reluctantly moved in a little closer around the man, making more contact with him than she would have cared to had she not been responsible for his injury. "You're not going to report this, right?" La Rue said quietly. "It was an accident." Seeing that the crowd was still gathered, La Rue dispersed them with a growl. "Get back to your business, people, there's nothing to see here."

On the contrary, Vice Valkurie thought as he stifled a grin. There is much to see here. Seeing Gunther sitting there with a bleeding nose -- or was it broken -- somehow made Vice wish that he had a camera with him.

Gunther just smiled inside, staring down the marine's tank top. "No, I won't report it," he responded softly. "Turnabout is fair play." He relaxed in the strong woman's arms, continuing to enjoy the moment with his face near those beautiful, large, round breasts. "By the way, I had a question."

Still feeling a little uncomfortable about the awkward position she was in, La Rue asked plainly, "What is it?"

Trying to resist chuckling for fear of the pain, Gunther asked, "Those are natural, aren't they?"

La Rue's face was expressionless for a full three seconds as she processed the meaning of the man's words. First one eye twitched. Then the other. They alternated for a few seconds until both finally twitched at the same time. Her face colored as a sound began to build in her throat -- a very deep, very ominous sound.

"La Rue," Ng warned from the marines' table, witnessing her transformation. She had gone from pink to red and was now turning purple. "It's not worth it, La Rue," he said, getting up.

Gunther squeaked. It was all he could manage under the pressure La Rue was exerting on the back of his neck and his face. Her arms trembled slightly as she increased her grip to painful levels, and the woman was breathing heavily through bared teeth by the time privates Ng, Brinks and Ellis pulled her off of Gunther, who collapsed onto the deck -- again. The bleeding had stopped, at least.

Corporal La Rue couldn't even manage a recognizable syllable as she was dragged away, and as Gunther got to his knees, trying to shake off the stars that swam in front of him, he saw Private Meltwater hiding under the table, where he had been since Dee Dee'd first gone after McLean.

"Uh... hi," the green pilot offered weakly. "Are you okay?"

"Fair," Gunther acknowledged, "but still kicking. I've been through worse. Except I think this thing is starting to swell. Could you get me an ice pack and help me to the infirmary?"

Meltwater slowly crawled out from under the table and, after checking to make sure the coast was clear, stood up and helped Gunther to his feet. Most people had by now gone back to their own affairs, and the two men were able to make their way to the kitchen for some ice and then the exit without a lot of fanfare.

In a darkened corner in the room, Loogie smiled broadly at Booger, who was cursing a blue streak. "I do believe both of his eyes are going to be black!" Loogie beamed. "That should be 40 credits."

"No fair! It was an accident!" Booger complained.

"I think not," Loogie sniffed.

"She was trying to punch that other guy, Magnus whatshisname!"

"Misdirection, plain and simple. We both know Corporal La Rue is craftier than she looks. She meant to punch Lieutenant Gunther the entire time."

Booger was about to continue arguing when the person across the table from the two men sighed. "Are we done playing, guys? You guys are down to your skivvies, after all."

The two nearly naked men looked at one another. Booger wore baggy boxers and a pair of thick, dark socks; Loogie a gold lamee thong and a cowboy hat. In front of them, in the middle of the table, rested the remainder of their clothes. Shirts, vests, pants, watches, belts, headbands, gloves, scarves, rings, sunglasses, shoes, undershirts, trap-door long underwear and more was piled high. None of it belonged to Private Babette Moore; she still wore the shorts and top she'd begun the game with.

The men shook their heads in unison.

"Oh no, we're not letting you off that easy," Booger said, narrowing his eyes.

"We'll beat her for sure this time," Loogie added, dealing the cards.

Dee Dee's scowl deepened as the muscular marine cradled the stricken flight leader and then shooed everyone away. "I don't think she hit him that hard," the young redhead commented after a few moments, turning to walk to the recycler so she could rid herself of the bloody napkins she still carried. "Oof!" she exclaimed, not getting two steps before walking straight into someone she hadn't known was behind her. "L-Lieutenant Valkurie -- I'm sorry, I, um, didn't see you there," she said shyly.

"Don't worry about it. It was my own fault for standing so close to the action," Vice said cheerfully as he clapped a hand on Dee Dee's shoulder. "At least this gave me the chance to meet one of my new squadron mates."

Durst looked from Vice's hand on her shoulder up to his handsome face. "Um... yeah. I'm Dee Dee," she said simply. "I fly a Lancer in Swallow Flight, with Lieutenant Gunther."

"You fly on Everett's wing?" Vice said, more of a statement than a question.

Dee Dee nodded.

This could be interesting. Valkurie knew Everett's style of flying and had often found it to be a little too reckless for his own tastes. Did Lt. Gunther's wingman fly in a similar manner?, he wondered. "Well. It's good to meet you Dee Dee. I was hoping that if you're not busy that maybe you could give me a little infodump on the wing. I only know a little from what I've read in the files and haven't had much of a chance to meet anyone." Vice jabbed a thumb in La Rue and Gunther's direction. "I mean... should I expect most meals to be as interesting as this one?"

Smiling, Dee Dee forgot all about her fallen flight leader. "No, I'm afraid this sort of thing is pretty rare. Usually the most excitement we get down here is a spat between Pluto and Humbolt over who's the better cook. And, um, I'm not busy. I'm off duty, so if you want I can give you a little tour, maybe tell you a bit about the Redtails."

"Solid." Vice replied, returning Dee Dees smile. "A little more about the Redtails would be great. I think that we should lose the bloody napkins first... don't you?"

A few minutes later, the napkins disposed of, the two pilots sat down and got to talking.

"I noticed the same thing about him." Vice said as he put down his bulb of water. "Montreal did seem kind of distant but there was something in his eyes... the way that he looked at people. I suppose that you get used to it, but it was a little unnerving at first. I felt like he was sizing me up for a pot."

Dee Dee smiled. "Ricardo is a little... intense. You have to get used to it, it's true."

Vice continued. "So let me see if I have this all straight. Spencer and Olivier lead in Starling Flight. You and Everett are Swallow Flight, Lancers. Cool Gilding is Finch Flight, along with little Cosby. Montreal and Meltwater are Oriole Flight. Collins is Thrush Flight, with the crusty old guy, Cortez -- they're the other Lancers. Which leaves McLean and myself as Grackle Flight. And everyone seems to get along rather well. Let me tell you I have served on some ships where the exo-pilots hated the Lancers. I'm glad that isn't the case here. So how about that tour of the Hangar? I'm really curious to meet the people who will be looking after my exo."

Wincing a little, Durst replied, "Well, we do all get along quite well, but we have our moments, I guess. You just missed one of mine, before La Rue decked Everett." Getting up, she added, "So lets go check out that hangar."

"Mind if I tag along?" Private Collins asked, butting in on their conversation. Dee Dee frowned at the attractive pilot, but Collins ignored the woman's expression. "You can't hog the new guy all to yourself, Dee," she quipped. "Come on you two -- let's go."

Eroll looked back at the young girl. "Oh, right." He slurped his coffee. "So tell me what happened next."

"Well, there's not much more to it," Arianna replied. "I plotted a course that was more efficient and faster than Orr's and the captain gave me the go-ahead. It was great, though. You should have seen the look on everyone's faces when I opened her up. I wasn't expecting the water mass onboard to shift, but it was pretty easy to adjust and compensate for it. And, I know I said this before, but I think the captain really dug the high-acceleration burn! I think I saw her smiling!"

Eroll nodded. "There's a reason why they teach you to take it up slow in flight school, Arianna. Yeah, the ship can go zero to eight-tenths in a second or so, but when you do that you risk having stuff that's not properly secured shift around, and even injury to the crew. I've never had that problem with the water, but I've never opened the throttle full from a standstill."

"Well, you should... it's amazing what this ship can do when you push her a little," Arianna replied.

Before Eroll could reply, a commotion at the table next to them interrupted him. "It's her, I'm sure of it," one man said loudly, pointing not-so-surreptitiously at Eroll and Cyan.

Another man, a bandage on his chin, stood up. "I'm going to find out for certain," he declared. Marching up to the pair of helmsmen, he pointed a finger at Private Cyan. "Are you the new helmsman? The one who was at the controls when we started this burn?"

"Yes, I'm the new helmsman," Cyan answered. Then, cheerfully, she added, "You don't need to thank me for the improved course. Getting the chance to fire the engines was thanks enough!"

The man with the bandage nodded, then turned to look back at his companions. "It's her!" he declared, and in short order Eroll and Cyan were surrounded by irate crewmen. "I just about cut off my chin shaving because of you!" the lead man said angrily.

"I banged my head on the doorframe!" another declared, rubbing the raised lump on his head.

One held his nose. "I was tweezing my nose hairs, and just about drove the tweezers into my brain!"

"I dropped and broke my datapad!"

"My girlfriend got a black eye! What? Oh, use your imagination!"

"My roommate rolled out of her bunk and landed on me!"

"I accidentally peed on my leg!"

Groans sounded in the small crowd, but the complaints kept right on coming. Above the ruckus, the man with the bandage leaned in close. "So what are you gonna do about this, Cyan? You caused a lot of trouble!"

"What am I going to do about it? You were warned that we were about to perform a main engine burn," Cyan retorts. "You're not on a lunar ferry or a solar barge. You should know better! Isn't that right, Corporal Eroll?"

"What are you going to do?!" the bandaged man roared, cutting off Eroll's reply. "Look at us! This is all because of you! The least you can do is apologize!"

Eroll raised his hands and tried to defuse the situation. "Alright, alright! Calm down, everyone -- you all were warned about the burn. It's not like it came as a complete surprise."

A man with a bright red handprint on his face came forward. "Corporal Eroll, you've never accelerated the ship like that, and neither has any other helmsman I've served with. This girl's a menace, and I'm not going anywhere until she personally apologizes to me and tells me she isn't going to do that again."

"And what happened to you?" Eroll asked.

The man's face pinkened to almost match the handprint. "I stumbled into the girl's lockers down in the rec area..."

"So, you want me to apologize for you stumbling into the women's locker room?" Arianna asked, obviously stunned by the demands of her shipmates. "Absolutely not! If you're just looking for someone to excuse your behavior, you won't find it here. Take some responsibility for your actions. Even fighter and exo pilots know better. I'd expect more from all of you!"

The young helmsman's fiery response silenced the mob to a man, and Jan smiled as some of them shuffled uncomfortably.

"But... but I peed on myself!" one exclaimed again.

Before the chaos could erupt again, the man with the bandage on his face came forward once more. "Alright, alright everybody, cool it. Cyan, all we want from you is an apology for the way you handled that burn -- and maybe a bit of compassion."

All eyes fell to Arianna's face, but before the girl could speak, someone new arrived at the table.

Corporal Ricardo Montreal.

When he spoke, his voice was low but clear. "I think you all must have better things to do than pester a private who was just doing her job. If disciplinary action needs to be taken, that is for the captain to decide, not all of you."

The man with the bandage swallowed hard. Montreal's eyes looked right through him, and he could already hear people behind him quietly slipping away. "Urrr... uh... right..." he began.

"Right," Montreal agreed. In a matter of seconds the entire group had dissipated, including their ad hoc leader, the bandaged man. Montreal turned towards Arianna and Eroll. "I'm sorry they attempted to taint your first experience piloting the Fierce. Do not let them." The faintest of smiles touched the man's lips, he added, "It was magnificent," and then was gone.

The main infirmary was in the other habitat, so the trip took some time. Gunther's Nose bled in fits and starts the whole trip, and Meltwater was continually apologizing -- which was starting to annoy Gunther, but he was grateful for the assistance. "You'd think your wingman would help you out in a time like this," Gunther complained. "Where is she?"

"I think she was talking to that new pilot, Lieutenant Valkurie," Meltwater flinched. "I heard he has nerves of steel -- that he took out like five Syreens all by himself in the Battle of Elysee."

"He is a decent pilot," Gunther acknowledged. "I'll grant him that. Even though he is a narcissistic nutcase. He has a strange obsession with cards too." Gunther groaned as his nose started to bleed again. "But what is Durst doing hanging around Valkurie? He's a looker to the ladies that's for sure, but I didn't think she'd like a character like Vice. She probably just sees his slick looks and his glittering medals. I'll have to have a talk with that girl to stay away from him."

His young face long, the rookie pilot glumly added, "He's just the kind of guy all the girls on board will go for. I don't stand a chance with Yvette now."

"You after Yvette?" Gunther asked semi-rhetorically. "She's pretty cute..." Gunther winced as he padded his nose, the bleeding had appeared to stop again for the time being. "And she's a flirt." Gunther smiled. "You have that in your favor. Maybe I can give you a few pointers later on if you'd like."

"Sure!" Meltwater agreed energetically, well aware of Gunther's reputation as a ladies man.

Arriving at the medical bay, Gunther and Meltwater were surprised to see a large number of people in the tiny waiting area. All were sporting minor bumps, lacerations and bruises. One man holding a bag of ice to his head snarled, "You too? Stupid helmsman!"

Gunther looked at the man. "Not the helmsman, a marine."

The door to the doctor's office opened, and a grinning crewmember came out with his pinky finger lightly bandaged. Behind him, Dr. Gilmour stepped out into the room with an oversized datapad in her hands. Gilmour was young, smart and beautiful. She was quite popular with the crew -- especially the men. She had a wonderful bedside manner, and, more importantly for many of those men, had the longest hair of anyone on the ship. Lean and leggy, she wore her usual white jacket on top of a body-hugging outfit that was visible though her open coat. Her lustrous dark hair spilled down over her back, and she wore a pair of chic, small-framed eyeglasses. "Next," she called precisely. "Private Brown?"

Gunther eyes lit up at the sight of Miss Gilmour. Damn, does this boat have a never-ending supply of beauties, Gunther thought to himself. He stepped forward, Meltwater helping him along. "Ah, excuse me. I think these minor bruises and such can wait. We've got a broken nose here." The bleeding started up again and Gunther quickly pressed the marine's now bloodstained shirt to his face. "Ow," he cried. "Damn it... and possibly a bit of a broken ego," he threw in as a bit of persuasive charm.

Dr. Gilmour crossed the room and gently pulled the bloody shirt away to examine Gunther's swollen nose. She made a soft clicking sound with her tongue. "It's broken all right. We can get that fixed up right away for you, Lieutenant... but the damage to your ego might take a little more time to heal," she said with a smile.

Before Gunther could reply, a voice sounded behind him at the infirmary's entrance. "It sounds serious, so I'll take care of it, Nurse Gilmour. You go ahead and tend to all these other hypochondriacs."

Gilmour stepped back from Gunther and politely addressed the senior physician. "Yes, Dr. Zelios. Thank you for coming down to help out with the rush. And may I remind you that I am Doctor Gilmour, not Nurse Gilmour."

Zelios, now all the way into the room, shrugged, then whacked Gunther on the shoulder. "C'mon flyboy, let's straighten out your nose. Gilmour, I'll be in one."

Gunther groaned inside as he watched his opportunity to enjoy the tender care of the beautiful Dr. Gilmour fade into oblivion. Dr. Zelios' enthusiasm only worsened Gunther's disappointment. He turned to Meltwater. "I'll probably be OK from here. You're free to wait for me if you want, but I'm not sure how long we'll be."

Meltwater was clearly uncomfortable being left alone in the waiting area. "I'll uh... I'll catch you later, then," he managed.

Lieutenant McGregor shifted slightly to reach the pepper. The cook's midnight omelet was good enough, certainly better than the stuff she'd had aboard the Marathon, but it still needed more pepper. She doused it heavily, imagining it was snow or rain, and wishing she might one day experience such things for herself.

Shoveling a forkful into her mouth, she reflected on the upcoming meeting at 0400 and the sudden change in her schedule. She was a little annoyed at having to skip out on a late-night dinner with Private Young. Getting to know the apparently flighty mechanic seemed like it should be a high priority, especially before the girl started crawling all over Bigeye, but priorities had just shifted around dramatically. "Ah well," she mumbled over a mouthful of toast.

The Habitat 2 Mess Hall was all but deserted. The other mess probably had far more people at this hour, she'd been told, but it she had already been halfway down the Habitat 2 corridor when she'd realized she'd made a wrong turn in the transfer collar, and she had decided she might as well press on.

Besides, it was much quieter here.

McGregor pored over her notes.

Dr. Zelios roughly shoved a pair of absorbent wads into Gunther's nostrils. "So... I suppose you were hoping to come her to see the beautiful Nurse Gilmour."

Stiffening from the pain of having a pair of anything shoved up his nose at this point, Gunther replied, "No, not really, but now that you--"

"We get more damned cases of hangnails and bumped heads since she's joined the staff..." Examining Gunther's nose, Zelios suddenly and violently moved it back into place with a crackle and a snap.

"GHAAAAAH!" Gunther screamed.

"There, now, that wasn't so bad, was it? I remember once back when I was with the Solar Cross having to break a Venusian's nose six times before it set right..."

"I certainly hope that isn't the case here," Gunther painfully asked, his head spinning from the pain.

"We'll see," Zelios countered. "It may seem barbaric in this day and age, but sometimes the simplest fixes are the best." Lifting his hand-held mediscanner, the doctor recorded Gunther's vitals, scanned the injury and prodded around the man's extremely sore nose for a few more moments. Satisfied with his work, he put down the scanner and picked up a package of syntheskin. Opening it and wordlessly applying the contents of the pouch to Gunther's face, Zelios molded it for a few seconds with his hands before spraying the area with a firming agent.

"There you are. Leave that on for 48 hours." Presenting a small bottle of vitamax to the pilot, he added, "And take this nasal vapor twice a day during that period. Come back to see me in a few days time, or if there are any complications. Do you have any questions?"

Gently touching his face and nose, Gunther was still recovering a bit from Dr. Zelios 'meatball surgery' technique. He then looked at the doctor and shook his head. "No."

"Alright, one last thing before you're on your way," Dr. Zelios mentioned. "How did this happen?"

Gunther hesitated for a moment and then he began. "Well, it was an accident really. A marine brawl broke out against one of the other pilots. I stepped in to stop it and inadvertently ended up with this," Gunther explained, pointing to his nose. "I plan on talking with both the senior officers, the marine crew and my own, Senior Lieutenant Spencer." Gunther portrayed a sincere expression. "I'm not interested in filing a report against the marine. It wasn't her fault. Well, not exactly, but I guess she inadvertently got her vengeance on me. As I told her, turnabout is fair play."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zelios frowned. "What would she need to exact vengeance on you for?"

Gunther scrunched his face, definitely wishing that the doctor hadn't asked that question. "Well, during the end of my last patrol, I did a flyover maneuver on their EVA exercises, pulling about 3.1 gees
acceleration..." Gunther confessed, eyeing the doctor's expressions carefully. "At about 10 meters clearance."

Dr. Zelios blinked. "I don't remember you having a history of head injuries, Lieutenant... but clearly you're suffering from brain damage if you flew your interceptor that close to the ship's marines. No wonder one of them popped you one! It was La Rue, wasn't it -- she ends up putting someone into the medical bay once every two weeks, by accident or quite on purpose. I suppose she's about due."

Gunther nodded. "Yes, it was La Rue, but what do you mean she's due? "

"The woman's a menace -- but then, so are you, from the sounds of it. Perhaps you're perfect for one another. If that's the case, I'd advise caution. Her... affections... have landed at least one man in here as well, if you know what I mean," the doctor said with a cocked eyebrow.

Gunther paused for a moment, imagining he and La Rue in... then he shuddered. Pulling his train of thought back into the room, Gunther rebuffed the doctor. "I'm not a menace, just an ace pilot and damn good one. Yeah, now after the fact I realize that my stunt wasn't a smart thing to do in an EVA exercise zone. However, in combat, those types of maneuvers can be pretty standard." Gunther's eyes gleamed as he relived some of his combat memories. "It is about survival after all."

The doctor was unimpressed. "Listen, Gunther, I've been from one end of this solar system to the other. I've seen hotshot pilots come and go like recycled air. Pilots with attitudes like yours -- grandstanders, showoffs, 'Aces,' whatever you want to call them -- they don't last. They either burn out, or they fade away. None of them are around for the long term. Once it's realized what a liability they are to themselves and their squadron, they get relegated to minor duties at the back lines. That, or they end up killing themselves or someone else in some flashy stunt like the one you pulled. Or, most poetically, they end up meeting some no-nonsense enemy who hands them their lunch while they're showing off." Zelios took one last look at the man's nose and silently proclaimed his work finished. "That going to happen to you, Lieutenant?"

Feeling a little annoyed but not wanting get into an argument with the doctor, Gunther shook his head. "No, sir. It won't." He just stared into the doctor's gaze blankly. "So, am I through?"

Dr. Zelios nodded, but his expression didn't soften. "Yes. I won't bring this little incident up at my weekly status meeting with Messier, but I expect you to steer clear of that marine. You end up in here again, I'm going to have to write it up. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Gunther stated putting conviction in his tone. "By the
way, this spray that you gave me." Gunther held up the nasal applicator bottle. "What does it do?"

"Eh? It'll help you heal, of course. Vitamax is one of the most commonly prescribed medications in the Confederation. I'd be surprised if you haven't been on it before for some reason or another."

Gunther paused for a moment, rubbing his temples, and then nodded in affirmation. "Right, right, I must have forgotten you mentioning that or didn't you? It doesn't matter, but I think I really need to go lay down for a while."

"That would be a wise choice," Zelios affirmed. "Let me walk you out."

Zelios followed along behind the pilot as he exited the examination room and entered the waiting area, which now held only half as many people as it had before. "You there," he called as Gunther passed by the remaining injured, "with the ice on your head. You're next. Get in here."

The man the doctor had gestured at got up slowly, cursing his poor fortune. "Lucky me," he muttered under his breath.

Gunther waved after the man. "Good Luck."

The JSS Fierce II struck across space, powering towards the Hanson lanes with ever-increasing velocity. Now almost 28 hours into her journey, the ship was a hive of activity. Her crew had fully recovered from being called into action early, and also from the unusual, jarring burn that had marked their setting off. The Fierce's sensors bristled as the vessel searched the heavens in a wide swath while a pairs of exo-armors patrolled the immediate space around the ship. Her hangars were alive with space vehicles being refueled and maintained before heading back out on patrol, the marines had taken over one of the shuttle bays to conduct some VR exercises, and the gunnery crew ran through mock operations of their own. The ship was ready for action, and spirits were high.

In the Redtails briefing room, Lieutenant McGregor, Lieutenant Gunther and Corporal Durst sat quietly in the front row as Captain Delacroix explained why they'd been summoned.

"So far, there's no sign of the sled," the diminutive captain began, "and I'm not entirely surprised considering the transponder ceased it's broadcast even before we took up pursuit. There is, however, a tightening net of JAF ships closing -- one of them is bound to spot it; we're going to finish our burn on schedule and remain on our current course for the time being. We're also hoping that we're going to dramatically increase our search capabilities by employing the JAFI equipment that Lieutenant McGregor has brought aboard. The Lieutenant has worked round-the-clock to get her gear ready for just this situation, and we're planning the first mission at 0400 - on Swallow Flight's watch."

Lieutenant Spencer, the squadron commander, was currently on patrol, but was participating in the briefing remotely. His helmeted face was displayed on a screen at the front of the room, and his voice carried with it a mild electronic buzz. "Gunther, Durst, that's where you come in."

"We're going to act as escorts for this equipment?" Gunther asked.

"Not exactly," Spencer returned. "Lieutenant McGregor, if you'd care to
explain?"

"Yes, Captain." McGregor stood and faced the others. Slotting her PDA into the briefing room's holoprojector, she cleared her throat. "The following information is classified top secret, as you've been briefed. I'll spare you the long-winded presentation the PR boys in JAFI came up with and cut to the chase."

She activated the projector and an ATMP -- an advanced tactical mission pod, the key component around which the IM-09 Lancer was built -- sprang to life in mid-air, rotating slowly. "This is the standard ATMP. And this..." A second, quite bigger ATMP appeared next to the first. "...is Project BIGEYE, the package I brought with me from HQ. BIGEYE is an advanced sensor and electronic warfare system -- very advanced. Under the right conditions, we can peek through a ship's hull and scan the insides." The holographic presentation showed the BIGEYE pod doing exactly that, revealing the insides of a CEGA Poseidon battleship.

"This is the test model. Part of its bulk is the life support systems for its operator -- me -- who rides along with it to oversee the executor and conduct operations. This will probably change in the final model." She pointed at the rear of the pod. "Over here is the drone bay. BIGEYE carries three drones that form a synthetic aperture of approximately 2 km radius while in flight. Up here are the primary sensor and communications masts, with the deployable electronic warfare booms over here."

McGregor stepped away from the display. "Naturally, since this replaces your normal ATMP and has no weapons, the Lancer Bigeye is not a combat unit. Furthermore, BIGEYE is quite large -- enough to chop your usual thrust in half. Any questions?"

"Well with your thrust halved, I'd guess you certainly wouldn't be using it for combat," Gunther exclaimed. "However something isn't clear to me, so you'll forgive me, I only took middle school physics... but why a synthetic aperture of four kilometers diameter? Doesn't the diameter of a lens affect the power of magnification, not sensitivity? It would seem this unit is meant to be used to scan across great distances rather than peer through bulkheads."

McGregor peered at the man. "Very perceptive, Lieutenant. BIGEYE, of course, does both. The reasons are classified. The SAR subsystem is not part of the deep-scan subsystem, however."

Dee Dee raised her hand. "SAR subsystem? What's that?"

McGregor nodded at the woman's curiosity. "Good question, Corporal Durst. SAR stands for synthetic aperture radar. The long and short of it is that, instead of building an antenna that's four kilometers in diameter, we deploy four smaller antennas (in this case) over a four-click wide circular area and synthesize their individual signals into one larger one, thereby emulating the larger aperture. You may have heard of the IGS program to deploy antennas at the edges of the Solar System. It's the same principle."

"Oh," Dee Dee responded. "Okay."

Gunther gazed at the lieutenant as he sat back in thought, then shifting forward in his seat, he continued his inquiry. "I have to ask, what is the tactical maneuverability of this behemoth? I mean that's a lot of bulk. What are the vernier specifications on that thing? Does it maneuver like a Mule freighter or can it dodge itself out of a firefight if needed? And what about the drones? Hopefully, their thrust and maneuver allows them to keep up with the ATMP. I guess what I am asking is whether this thing is designed for battlesphere survivability or just hanging back and playing peek-a-boo?"

McGregor shook her head. "No, a Lancer Bigeye is definitely not a front line battlefield unit. As far as the drones are concerned, they're off the shelf. JAFI's shelf, to be sure. At two kilometers out, they would have to exceed the speed of light to keep apace with the maneuvering Lancer and be functional. They're considered disposable. If things get hot, we leave them behind. They can... scuttle themselves, actually."

Spencer broke in, "Gunther, there's no question that an interceptor with this BIGEYE pod is going to fly like a pig. It's going to be a handful, and since you're our best Lancer pilot, I want you at the stick. It's going to call for controlled, precision flying -- you'll need to be able to follow Lieutenant McGregor's instructions to the letter. And remember that this is a very expensive piece of hardware... top priority is getting it -- and McGregor -- home safe. Dee Dee, you'll have his six on this -- all the way."

Durst nodded.

"I realize that sir," Gunther acknowledged to Senior Lieutenant Spencer. "I appreciate your confidence in me, and I am not making light of the fact that this is an expensive piece. I just want to know how a Lancer will perform in this configuration."

"This is the prototype," Captain Delacroix added, "so there doesn't yet exist a lot of good telemetry from an outfitted Lancer. That's going to be part of your role, Lieutenant Gunther. We need to know just how dramatically the handling and flight characteristics are going to be impacted."

Gunther nodded. "OK then, that's what we'll do." Addressing Captain Delacroix, Gunther affirmed, "You can expect my and Durst's full cooperation, sir. Right Dee?"

"Yes, absolutely," Durst agreed. "Are we starting with our next patrol?"

"You are," Delacroix answered.

Spencer explained. "The BIGEYE ATMP is already fixed onto Swallow One, Gunther. They're doing some last-minute calibrations and checks down in the hangar, but you, Dee Dee and Lieutenant McGregor should be ready to roll at 0400. The flight plan's already been loaded up. Once you're in the air we'll see how it handles and whether it can stick to the path drawn up by navigation. We're basically sticking you way out in front to see what you can see."

"So we'll hopefully be first contact," Gunther replied. "Lighting up the sled for tactical to get a good view before approaching. Makes sense." He furloughed his brow. "I am guessing that Swallow Flight is being outfitted with extra reaction mass since we'll be on such a long-range patrol?"

"Yes," Spencer answered, "you'll have extra fuel."

"We're hoping, however, that you won't need it," Captain Delacroix pointed out. "This sled isn't a small vessel, and we have considerable faith in you two and in Lieutenant McGregor and her sensing pod."

"Thank you sir," Gunther acknowledged. "Swallow Flight won't let you down."

McGregor ran the holopresentation back to the point where the Lancer Bigeye was scanning the CEGA Poseidon. "There's one thing I should clarify: this..." she waved a hand at the scene, "is a last resort. We're using some fairly exotic stuff here, and the exact effect on human physiology is not well understood yet."

Both Gunther and Durst looked at each other and shared the same thoughts without speaking a word. They then looked at McGregor. "Great!" Gunther exclaimed. "So we're also the JAFI's guinea pigs? What are we talking about here, being roasted like a potato in a microwave or just a healthy sunburn?"

"Not you, Lieutenant, Corporal," McGregor said. "The targets of the scan, namely the passengers on the sled."

Corporal Durst raised her hand slightly. "Does it also carry... more traditional sensors as well?"

McGregor raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Corporal, that's right. The sensor assembly is divided into numerous subsystems. SAR is one -- we've talked about that. Deep Scan is another. All the usual ones are there, though many are vastly improved over the ones we usually field."

Gunther now leaned back in his chair. "So when can we take a look at this expensive contraption you've attached to ol' Susan? I'd like to check it out... then I might have a few more questions."

"By all means," Captain Delacroix responded. "You'll all need to get prepped in the ready room shortly, in any case. You must be excited, Lieutenant McGregor, this being the first live test of the apparatus under uncontrolled conditions."

McGregor smiled politely, but thinly. "I'm from Intelligence, Ma'am. We don't get excited. I only hope the system performs adequately and that the data it gathers will be useful to the rescue operation."

Delacroix smiled back, perhaps a little thinly herself. She had hoped McGregor wasn't going to be a typical JAFI type... perhaps that had been too much to hope for. "Of course," she returned.

Gunther jumped on McGregor's projected lack of enthusiasm. "Well, maybe when we get out there and start buzzing around and putting your little toy through its paces, you'll be more excited. Besides, you're my crewmate for the rescue mission. That alone should be exciting enough." Gunther smiled with wink.

"Shall we move to the hangar in order to see BIGEYE in person?" Delacroix continued.

Gunther leaped up out of his seat. "Yeah, I want to check this new
ATMP out. See what Susan will be towing..."

There had been no sign of life from the sled as the shuttle approached, even the running lights were off. Now Sergeant Harry Mandrake's squad was making its way down a service corridor towards the main passenger section while Sergeant Tucker's squad headed for the control center and the Falconers of Warrant Officer Duran's squad waited in reserve near the sled's engines. Inside the sled the situation was the same. The corridors were deserted, and the only sound came from the soles of the squad's Pouncer exo-suits against the deck.

Harry paused as Private Ellis stuck the signal repeater to the wall of the T-intersection, then spoke as she gave a thumbs up. "Okay, we take the left here and then it's about a hundred meters straight to the passenger sections. Let's go."

The squad made good time down the corridor as Harry keyed his radio to the inter-squad frequency. "Mandrake to Tucker, radio check. Over." There was a slight pause as the message retransmitted through the relays the squads had set up and then the reply came back.

"Tucker. Receiving you clear. We're just about to-" Tucker stopped as another voice cut in.

"I've got movement ahead. Wait a second... it's just a m-bot. I'll--" The transmission went dead and a second later Harry felt a slight vibration through the floor. The rest of the squad noticed it too and gripped their weapons tighter.

"Ellis?"

Ellis shook her head. "I can't re-establish contact. Looks like most of our comm relays are toast."

Harry thought for a second. "Right, we're headed back to Tucker's squad's position. As before, Ellis, you're up front, La Rue, you're rearguard. Everyone watch for hostiles."

The squad had almost made it back to the intersection when Ellis held up her hand. "Wait up, I've got something around the corner." The marine extended a sensor boom around the corner then jerked back as a burst of fire was stitched across the opposite wall.

"Nicky, are you okay?" called out Private Brinks.

"I'm fine" Ellis replied shortly as she got up from the floor. "Ah, looks like at least three Bulldog suits, Sergeant. Armed with what are, ah, apparently gyroc rifles," she reported as calmly as possible.

Harry was about to reply when La Rue's armor gun boomed from the rear, followed by a burst of automatic fire. Harry turned to see La Rue fire twice more as she fell forward, narrowly missing a Bulldog exo-suit as it ducked back into a side room down the corridor. "La Rue!" he shouted, rushing to her side.

"I'm fine Sarge," came La Rue's reply as he helped her stand. Harry gave a sigh of relief. "I think the ankle joint on my suit's busted though. Shit, we're pinned. How did they get both ahead and behind us?"

Mandrake shook his head. "Let's worry about that later. For the moment, count your shots, we don't have any spare ammo for that armor gun." He flinched as a grenade bounced around the corner of the intersection and exploded, showering Ellis and Brinks with shrapnel that fortunately pinged off their armor. Harry brought up the sled's blueprints on his heads up display, looking for a way out of their predicament.

"Brinks, I want smoke down the corridor. Let's let 'em think we're making a break for it that way. Ng, there's a storage bay below us. Give us another exit." Brinks fired two rounds from his grenade launcher as Ng unfolded a breaching frame from his kit and set it on the floor. Once it was in place he stepped back and triggered the radio detonator. The shaped breaching charges went off with a dull boom, leaving a twisted rectangle of floor plating in its place. A few swift kicks from the boot of Ng's exo-suit propelled it into the room below and the way was clear.

Ng was just turning to Harry as three Bulldogs burst around the corner of the intersection, firing randomly. A wild shot hit Ng square in the back and he pitched forward into the opening, slowly tumbling through the decking. Ellis had her assault rifle up and was firing the instant the suits were in view, hitting the lead suit in the chest. That Bulldog had stopped, jerking slowly, but another suit stepped from behind at and hit Ellis with a full burst. Beside her, Brinks cursed as he brought his grenade launcher around but his shots went wide, hitting the far wall as the final Bulldog reached him and fired into him at point blank range, the rocket propelled rounds not even having a chance to accelerate to full velocity before they hit.

Mandrake heard La Rue's gun again as more suits emerged from the smoke. His first shots hit a suit in the arm and then it was upon him, a Hummer blade in its undamaged hand. Harry's last sight was of La Rue throwing aside her gun and drawing a vibroknife; then the blade plunged deep into his chest and everything went black.

Mandrake took a deep breath and popped open his suit. Blinking in the light of the bay he could see the other marines emerging from their suits as well. Duran was standing in the middle of the bay looking very unhappy. "Okay," he barked "Who can tell me what went wrong?"

La Rue, as usual, was first to speak up. She sat astride her Decker's saddle and wiped sweat from her forehead as she said, "We didn't have enough goddamned ammo, or firepower! If we're really expecting armored opposition like that, Brinks at least should be packing the AG, like me. The pea-shooters the rest of you guys have don't cut it against exo-suits."

Private Nike Ellis, partway out of her suit, added, "I could have dropped some motion sensors behind us. That way we would have had some warning before we got caught in that crossfire."

"We were also too bunched up," Private Ng contributed.

Harry shook his head, still half blinded from re-emerging into the light after his 'death'. "I disagree. If we were spread out they could have taken us out piecemeal even easier. The fact is that we weren't expecting hostiles. From the outside it looked like serious meteorite damage; we were expecting a rescue op, not an ambush."

From across the bay Sergeant Tucker nodded. "It's true we weren't expecting that level of opposition. We would have been fine though if that bomb hadn't caught us," she said, looking accusingly at one of her squad.

"Hey, it was a m-bot, the same type we have on the Fierce even. How was I supposed to know they'd use it as a suicide weapon?" he said defensively.

Harry turned back to his suit monitor to check what had happened to Duran's squad. They had been ambushed by Bulldogs armed with missile launchers hiding inside the plasma combustion chambers, then, as they retreated, the sled's point defense system had activated and cut them in half.

"More firepower, I'm telling you. And to be more aggressive with contacts like that m-bot," La Rue said, now fully out of her shell. Clad only in the thin, skin-tight suit each marine wore under their armor, every ripple of the woman's body was visible. She was in incredible condition. All of the marines were very fit and well muscled -- but La Rue was a step beyond.

Brinks, who wasn't quite as supremely conditioned as a few of the other marines, was indeed the tallest and the most heavily muscled. His neck was as thick as his head, and his shoulders were broad and sloping -- almost too broad for this Decker, in fact. He looked over to Private Ellis as she slipped gracefully out of her exo-suit. "You okay Nicky?" he asked softly.

Ellis sighed and barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. "Yes, Noah, I'm fine." Raising her voice as she stretched and worked the cramps out of her limbs, she added, "So what else should we have done differently?"

When Delacroix, Gunther, McGregor and Durst arrived at the hangar, Private Maribelle Young was sitting atop the massive ATMP, working intently on one of the boom actuators. The thing was huge -- bigger even than it looked in the impressive holograms McGregor had shown. The Lancer itself looked almost comical, perched as it was atop the pod.

Lieutenant David Tweet, the Fierce's deck commander, greeted the quartet as they approached Gunther's Lancer. "Captain, Lieutenants, Corporal," he said politely. "I presume you've come to have a look at the BIGEYE pod. Private Young is just double-checking on a few things. We'll be ready for launch on schedule, at 0400."

Cyan awoke with a start, shivering. Her blankets all clutched and wound around her, she was still freezing cold -- and so was her room. She couldn't quite see her breath, but something had obviously gone wrong with the environmental controls.

Lieutenant Vice Valkurie appraised the condition of his war machine with a critical eye. It looked like the deck crew of the Fierce knew how to look after an exo -- his Retaliator was fueled, armed, polished and ready for action. Valkurie was about, at 0400, to begin "Ready-5" duty, which meant that he had to be suited up and ready for launch at a moment's notice if the call came. One of the six Redtails flights was always on Ready-5 alert status... it meant that you had to hang out on the flick deck, in the ready room or actually in the cockpit -- but for most of the pilots on board, that wasn't something they minded doing.

Valkurie was no different. His exo's cockpit open and his helmet off, he ran through a dozen checks in as many seconds, making sure the machine was responding to his liking. It was.

The light clanking sound of someone climbing up the retractable scaffold attached to his exo-armor caught the ace pilot's attention. When the deck hand came into view, Valkurie was surprised to see that she was wearing what looked like a Nomad outfit rather than one of the tight-fitting, many-pocketed utilitarian uniforms all the rest of the deck crew wore. Her one-piece curve-hugging outfit was short-sleeved and legless, and was unzipped far enough in front to display an eye-popping amount of cleavage.

Valkurie's jaw fell open -- but not because of her physical charms, as undeniably evident as they were. He knew this woman. He couldn't place her yet, but he knew her. From the Belt. From his dark days in the Belt.

End Week 2 Summary (June 17-23, 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.