Week 3 Summary (June 24-30, 2002)

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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."

McGregor acknowledged Tweet. "Perfect, Lieutenant." Giving the pod a glance-over, she added, "Looks great."

Stepping forward, Gunther moved toward his Lancer and the now-attached BIGEYE, inspecting the sheer mass of the new ATMP pod. "Whoa, that is one big mother, isn't it? It's a wonder that this whole thing will actually fit in the launch bay." He continued to circuit the fighter, looking over his Susan like a protective father, inspecting every inch. Moving toward Young, Gunther looked up and called out, "So, how has the refitting gone? Any problems? Anything other than the sheer size of this contraption that I should be aware of, Miss Young?"

A clatter rang through the bay, and Young scrambled after the wrench she'd just dropped. "Look out below!" she hollered. A second later, the heavy wrench crashed to the deck floor with a resounding but harmless clang.

Peeking over the side of the pod, the private apologized. "Sorry! You guys surprised me." Climbing down from her perch with surprising nimbleness, Young avoided looking at Lieutenant Gunther when she reached the floor. "It's all ready, sirs," she said with several salutes. "No real problems other than the initial trouble with the power couplings."

Gunther felt himself starting to blush affectionately toward Private Young but caught himself, covering his redness by turning away, chuckling aloud as he casually saluted back. "Watch yourself, Miss Young. We don't need you damaging yourself as well as the new ATMP." He continued inspecting around the rear of the vehicle, noticing the long, cylindrical, auxiliary fuel tanks extending alongside the heatsink booms.

McGregor nodded. "Excellent work, Private Young," she said, giving Gunther a stern look. "I'm glad you overcame the power coupling problem. This fighter is a bit older than we expected; the couplings seem to have undergone a minor change in spec. Let's take a look up top, Private, shall we?"

Young nodded, reclaimed her wrench from the floor, secured it at her belt and then began climbing back onto the pod.

Despite her earlier claim not to be eager for anything, McGregor all but jumped up to where the tech had just been working. She studied Young's most recent activity with intensity -- and not just a little paranoia.

Gunther ears perked up and he ran around to look up at the two women, his hands on his hips. "Old? Hey, that's my Lancer you're talking about. She's been put through its paces, but Susan isn't old."

Private Young crawled spider-like over to McGregor, where the JAFI officer's keen eye hadn't uncovered anything out of the ordinary. "He... uh... calls it 'Susan,' Young commented quietly.

McGregor glanced at Young. "Yes, so it seems," she replied, whispering and gesturing aimlessly at a few places on the hull. "I'm sure there's a story there, but I can't say I'm eager to hear it." Standing up, she continued, more loudly, "Well, it all looks great, Private Young. How about the drones?" She gestured toward the rear of the unit. "Are they loaded and ready to go?"

Gunther still stood there for a moment, soon realizing that they were ignoring him. He harrumphed quietly and then moved back next to Durst and the Captain, looking up at Young and McGregor still a top the ATMP.

"Affirmative -- I think," the slim private answered. "Balaraj!" she suddenly yelled, moving down towards the back of the ATMP. "Balaraj! Those drones are in the green, right?"

"Yes," an answer came simply, from somewhere underneath the aft-end of the Lancer. "Yes, everything is ready." Private Sandeep Balaraj, a man with warm brown skin and a well-trimmed moustache and beard, crawled out from one of the drone bays. Lowering himself to the deck, he saluted when seeing the gathering of officers. "Sirs," he said loudly and earnestly. "The drones are loaded and ready for deployment."

"You heard him, the drones are good to go," Private Young confirmed to Lieutenant McGregor, high above the deck. "I think this thing is as ready as it's going to get." Leaning over so she could see the gathering of people on the ground, Young inadvertently provided the JAFI officer with a glimpse of her backside, and a decidedly non-regulation electronic cracking device that poked out of the top of one of her back pockets.

"Lieutenant Gunther!" Young called down. "You probably noticed the size of this thing. You're going to have to go easy with her for your first few runs until we can start to figure out just what she can and can't do."

Stepping forward closer to the spacecraft, Gunther acknowledged Young's concerns. "Yeah, that's what I figured, but I appreciate the advice and concern." He casts her his best charming smile. "I am really curious about the performance due to the inertia mass but don't worry; I'll take her nice and easy at first. After all this is only supposed to be a search and rescue mission."

"Private," McGregor said quietly and icily. "You have some explaining to do." McGregor pointed to her own body, indicating where Young's cracking equipment was hidden. "I'm not terribly keen on tossing you into the brig right now, but I'm a hell of a lot less keen about the fact that you're carrying a piece of non-regulation equipment and have gained unauthorized access to Top Secret equipment. Give me a good reason not to call security right this instant."

Private Young's eyes widened behind her glasses as she reached into her back pocket and retrieved the device in question. "J-just for t-this?" she barely managed, handing the sophisticated piece of electronics over. "It's just a key-cracker, ma'am. I... I use it to open up crates and packages that people forget the access codes on. It happens all the time -- ask Sergeant Dumphy!" A tear ran down the girl's cheek as she moved closer to the Lieutenant and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Please, ma'am -- I haven't done anything wrong! I'm not some kind of security risk... I'm just trying to do my job!"

McGregor sighed. Making people's lives miserable was not really her favorite thing to do -- except where loudmouthed jerks were concerned, she added as an afterthought, glancing down at Gunther, still on the deck. "Okay," she replied. "That'll do for now, but we're going to have to have a little talk when I return from my patrol. Fortunately, reporting this kind of thing is a great big pain in the ass when it comes to the paperwork, and we've both got better things to do." She dabbed at the woman's cheek with a handkerchief, making a show of inspecting her eye as though looking for something caught in it. No need to embarrass her in front of her captain, she thought.

Lowering her voice to a whisper, McGregor added, "I want you to know something, Private. If you are compromised -- and I'm not saying you are; this is just hypothetical -- you will find yourself one day standing at a metaphorical cross-roads. One path will look easier than the other, and you will indeed find it to be so -- at first. That path, however, leads to ruin for you and everyone you care about. The other path is a lot harder, but I promise you this: the flag of the Confederation will be behind you every step of the way, and I will make it my personal goal to fuck over completely anyone who is messing around with a loyal citizen of our great nation. If you're in trouble, come to me."

Barely able to hear but noticing the women in an intense discussion, Gunther interjects. "Hey, is everything OK up there?"

"Everything's fine, Lieutenant," McGregor replied. "Just a piece of dust from this old crate." She tapped the hull of the fighter. "It's gone now."

Fighting back more tears, Private Young nodded emphatically, her eyes searching those of the other woman's as she said, "I really didn't mean to cause any trouble." Sniffling and smiling weakly, she added, "And Lieutenant Gunther won't like you calling Susan an old crate."

"I know," McGregor replied. Glancing down at the pilot again, she added with a certain amount of glee in her voice, "And... I know." She winked at the kid.

Young grinned, guffawed, and then quickly raised her hands to her nose as a gurgle-snort escaped as well. Pulling out a handkerchief, the young deck hand wiped first her eyes, then her nose, which she proceeded to blow loudly.

Though he had strained to hear, Gunther still couldn't make out the women's conversation... but clearly Young was distressed. And what's this about calling my Lancer an 'old crate', Gunther thought to himself, feeling slightly annoyed and concerned at McGregor's all-too-evident hubris. Gunther just waved up at the women and replied with a slightly sarcastic tone. "That's great! I'm sure that Susan appreciates your white-glove scrutiny as much as I do, Miss McGregor."

"Lieutenant, Private," Captain Delacroix commanded from the ground, truncating Gunther's tirade, "is this Lancer ready for its maiden flight with the BIGEYE?"

"Yes, Ma'am," the women replied in unison from atop the fighter.

"Good," Delacroix smiled. "Excellent work by your deck crew on this, Tweet." Checking the time, she added, "I'm due on the bridge shortly, and will monitor the launch from there. Good luck, all of you. We're counting on you."

After the captain left, Gunther moved back toward Durst, whispering in her ear. The two pilots moved away to head for Hanger 4. "Well, if everything checks out here," Gunther addressed the other officers, "Durst and I will go and inspect Swallow Two. Excuse us." As they were leaving, Gunther turned. "Private Young, when you're free here. Could you meet us in Hangar 4 on the launch deck? I'm sure that everything is in fine order, but I would appreciate your expertise in checking over Swallow Two with us."

"I'll be right there," Young called across the hangar. Looking at McGregor, she added, "Good luck on your flight, Lieutenant. I guess I'll be seeing you when you get back."

"Thank you, Private," McGregor replied. "It's Lieutenant Gunther who's going to need the luck, though, if he can't learn to address fellow officers and enlisted soldiers properly. Among a whole laundry list of other things."

"So what else should we have done differently?" Ellis asked, stretching.

"Both squads should have headed straight for the control center." Harry paused to take a sip of water from a squeeze bottle. "Then, once that was secure and we had control of the essential systems and a better understanding of the situation, we could prioritize the secondary objectives and focus on them as needed."

Tucker concurred. "Right. Then we could have approached the control center from two sides -- and it would have been us all doing the crossfire pinch rather than you guys getting caught in it."

"I agree," Duran nodded. "We set up a perimeter after taking the command center and work from there. In a vessel this size, we're going to have to continually watch each others' backs, and we're going to have to secure the sled one small area at a time. I want everyone to review their VR logs before 0600. At that time we'll cover in detail what went wrong this last time and we'll work on some new tactics. Then I'm going to want you all to get some rest. We're closing on this sled, and could get the call soon. Now let's stow these suits and hit the showers."

The marines suited back up and headed for the elevator that would take them back to the main hangar. There they quickly and efficiently ran their exo-suits through their maintenance and shut down checklists. Most of the marines then headed towards the habitat module, but a small crowd formed around Private Brinks, whose datapad was displaying a replay of the training mission.

"Hey, nice grouping Nicky!" he exclaimed, slapping Private Ellis on the back as her image on the screen fired a tight burst into an enemy exo-suit.

"Pity your shooting ain't so great." called a voice from the back.

"Shut up! I was keeping watch in the other direction, another second and I would've got him." Brinks twisted around to find the speaker, his free hand making a fist. Not finding the culprit, he glared around the group and then turned back to the datapad just in time to see Harry's demise. "Ooooh" he cried out in mock pain. "Smooth move, brought the blade in under the armpit where the armor joint is. Should have kept your arm down Sarge, he would have only sliced it off instead of killing you," he snickered.

"Don't laugh," Ng commented. "That move would have taken you down too, Brinks."

"No way -- I'da smoked that guy with my rifle butt and cracked open his armor like an egg."

"Come on, you shitheads," La Rue said from the rear. Move it -- I want to put some time in at the gym before the briefing."

Private Ellis looked at the big Corporal. "I'll come with you, Kerin -- I've been meaning to get some weights in."

La Rue smiled and made an impressive bicep muscle. "All right, you can tag along. I'm spot with one arm while doing some curls with the other."

Cyan awoke with a start, trembling. 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.

Shivering beneath her blankets, Arianna scanned the room looking for some kind of clue as to why the room was so cold. Still groggy from sleep, she had a brief moment of near panic, when she was sure that the hull had been compromised, but then she relaxed, realizing that she'd hear alarms if there was actually a leak.

Fumbling in the dark, she pressed on her bunk's console before quickly bringing her arm back within the blankets.

"I need to talk to a Boson. This is Private Cyan... it's freezing in my room!" she stuttered. "What's going on?"

The call was automatically routed to one of the two bosons on duty. "This is Sergeant Isner," a woman's voice answered. "Can you repeat the problem, please? And I'm reading your location as stateroom 1-12 -- is that correct?"

"Yes," Cyan answered, "and the problem is that my room is ice cold! It must be below freezing in here!"

"Hold a minute, Private Cyan, let me check on that." Thirty seconds or so passed, with the only noise Arianna could hear above the steady hum of the ship's systems being her own teeth chattering. Isner's voice came across the comm again. "Here we go... whoa. Private, the climate controls on your quarters are set for four degrees centigrade."

"What did I tell you?!" Arianna exclaimed.

"I'm sorry about this private, I'm not sure what happened. It looks like a valid climate change request is the cause of this, so I'm going to have to investigate that. In the meantime, I'll set the temperature back to 20 degrees, and I'll send Boson Tomas down there with a portable heater so we can get your quarters back up to temperature ASAP. Is that acceptable, private?"

"It'll do," Cyan grumped. "Just get the heat back on!"

"Will do, Private Cyan. Expect Boson Tomas shortly."

Knowing that she wasn't going to be getting any sleep until the conditions in her stateroom were fixed, Arianna Cyan climbed from her bunk and proceeded to get dressed in the thickest, warmest clothing she could find. By the time the technician had arrived, she didn't look happy.

"What happened?" she demanded. "I talked to someone who said there was a request to turn down the heat in my quarters? A request by who? It wasn't that jerk who 'accidentally' stumbled into the women's locker room, was it? Because, if it was, I'll be having a word or two with him!"

Corporal Willem Tomas, a tall, unpleasant looking man, shook this head as he placed a portable heater on the floor. "I don't know, miss." The man's eyes were kind of queer, and Arianna didn't like the way he stared at her without blinking.

"I was just told to being this down to help warm you up." When Tomas flicked the heater on, it was only a few seconds before its coils started to glow red and it began throwing off heat. "Boson Isner's already fixed the problem on her end, so you should be back to normal in here within an hour," he said slowly. Without smiling, he added, "You probably won't need all those clothes."

Arianna flashed the Corporal a gaze that even the heater would have difficulty coping with, saying, "Thank you, Corporal. I think you've fixed the problem."

Facing him, she didn't budge, her locked expression practically pushing him towards the door.

The boson flinched under Cyan's steely gaze and he quickly excused himself as he slipped out of her quarters, muttering to himself. Before the door could shut, however, someone else poked their head in -- Sergeant Orwell Pluto, one of the senior stewards. He carried a stack of large food containers piled almost to his chin.

"Wha--" he began, stumbling and nearly dropping the containers. "What are you doing in here?" he demanded.

"These are my quarters. What are you doing here?" Arianna demanded, suspiciously eyeing the food containers stacked haphazardly in Sergeant Pluto's arms.

Pluto puffed his chest. "There's not supposed to be anyone using these quarters. I've been given permission to use this room as temporary cold storage!" Barging in, he noted Cyan's rank on the uniform that hung on the wall. Dumping his load of containers onto Arianna's bed, he added, "There's some mistake -- privates don't get double quarters to themselves!"

"There's no mistake," Arianna protested. "My room assignment got sick right before we shipped. These are my quarters and there is no way I'm going to allow them to be used for cold storage! I'll freeze to death!"

Pluto scowled at Cyan, but the young woman was unmoved. Picking up his frosty containers, he left in a huff. "I'm going to talk to Lieutenant Messier about this!" he hollered. "I was supposed to be able to use this room for cold storage!"

The light clanking sound of someone climbing up the retractable scaffold attached to his exo-armor caught the ace pilot Vice Valkurie'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 two-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 recognized this woman. He remembered her from the Belt. From his dark days in the Belt.

Vice never had a problem remembering a person's face or name. It was a benefit of his exceptional memory. He knew this woman. Her body, her curves, the way that she moved -- it was all familiar to him. She was from his past, the part that he never talked about. What could she be doing here now?

Finally getting his jaw closed and his mouth working, the pilot decided to take the plunge, swallow his pride and ask. "This is going to sound like a really bad pick up line, Ma'am, but I have to ask. Do I know you?" he addressed the woman.

Private Moore continued her climb, now using handholds on the exo-armor itself to pull herself up to cockpit level. Once there, she glanced Valkurie's face. "No, I don't think so," she finally said with a half smile, not even really looking closely at him. It seemed as though she were used to answering the question. Her smile, strangely, was unfamiliar to Valkurie. When he'd last seen this woman -- Babette was her name, he now recalled -- she hadn't had much to smile about.

The clanging of the closing hatchway door announced her presence. He turned and first saw her, her curves accentuated in the shadows cast by the dim lighting. Without a word she came towards him with the sort of movements that spoke of experience. Her eyes met his and he was taken aback at how beautiful, yet incredibly sad they looked. Her thin, silky robe drifted off her body an instant before she was in his arms.

Vice remembered her now. The perfumed scent of her body, the temptation that was barely resisted and the look in her eyes. Especially her eyes. The years had not dulled his memory of her, nor the other senses that were attached to it. He had to know. He had to know what had happened. Maybe she did not remember his face but maybe she would remember his name.

Vice detached himself from the linear frame and moved over to her, his hand extended. "Of course. My mistake." he said. "How rude of me not to introduce myself first. My name's Vice. Vice Valkurie. And you are?"

As Valkurie came forward, Private Moore focused on his handsome face. Her expression fell. Her mouth worked for a second before any sound came out. "V-Vice...?" she stammered. "You... here? You look so different. So much older..."

Before Valkurie could respond, the woman climbed half into his exo's cockpit and hugged him. "I never found out what happened to you," she breathed into his neck.

Vice was a little surprised by her sudden reaction but only took a few seconds to register what was going and hugged her back. "It's great to see you too, Babette. Especially in such friendlier surroundings." Her body pressed tightly against his own. He was definitely going to remember this moment. "You look great. Haven't aged a bit. I... I can't believe it. There's so much I want to ask you... but I don't know where to begin. What are you doing onboard?"

Releasing the pilot, Babette backed off a little and wiped at her eyes. "Before I tell you, you must promise me something," she said with intensity. "That you have no contact with Soro. That you aren't here to take me back to him."

Vice paused. Take her back to Soro? he thought. Memories of the old man came to the forefront. Each memory angered Vice, especially where Babette was concerned. "Babette. I hate what that old bastard made you do... what he did to you. You want me to promise you something? I promise that I have nothing to do with Soro. I promise that I am not here to take you back... now or ever. I would not let anyone take you back to that monster. I can only hope that SolaPol or someone else caught up to him and finally made him pay for the many lives that he ruined."

The woman relaxed visibly, letting out a long breath. "Oh, thank God. I thought -- just for a moment... oh, it's just good to see you, Vice. How did you ever end up here? I know I need to answer the same question, and since you asked me first, I'll tell you."

Resting against the edge of the cockpit, the striking woman related her tale. "Do you remember Ent, Soro's right hand man? He helped me escape, almost three years ago. I stole away in his ship and spent almost a month evading Soro's men in the Belt. Eventually, I was picked up by a Mercurian freighter bound for Vanguard Mountain. Once there, I lived gloriously free for a time, but it wasn't long before I realized that I had few career opportunities, given my... skills. I also found myself looking over my shoulder all the time, always expecting Soro's long reach to pull me back in. Shortly after becoming a Jovian citizen, I decided that a career in the JAF was my best course of action. I'd learn skills I could make a living with later in life, and I'd be protected from that bastard better than anywhere else I could think of. So here I am -- the Fierce was my first assignment, last summer."

"That sounds something like what happened to me," Vice said simply. Grinning, he continued, "I still can't believe that it's you. Here and now. I never would have expected this reunion. I mean I kinda hoped for a time there because I hated seeing you in that place but this is... this is great."

Babette reached out and squeezed Vice's hand. "There are few people from my past I ever wanted to see again," she said softly. "But truly, you are--"

"MOORE!" Sergeant Dumpy bellowed from below. "Stop fraternizing with the new pilot and get your ass back down here! Tanaka needs a hand with this warhead!"

Private Moore looked down to the deck at her supervisor, then called down, "Yes, sir!" Turning back to Valkurie, she kissed him lightly on the cheek before exiting the cockpit. "I'm in 2-6. Come to see me when you get back from patrol."

Entering the launch deck behind her squadron leader, Corporal Durst squinted and looked up at her Lancer. Swallow Two, from her current perspective, was standing on its tail; it was armed, fueled, and ready for action.

"Something up?" Durst wondered aloud, looking around to make sure there were no unwanted eavesdroppers.

Gunther nodded. "Let's take a walk around Swallow Two, Dee Dee." The two started their circuit of the craft, looking it over inch by inch as Gunther quietly explained himself. "I don't trust McGregor. Either she's fresh out of the academy and really believes that this could only be a search and rescue mission to test out her new toy, or she's smarter than that, knows something that we don't and has an agenda here. Either way, I won't let her jeopardize Swallow Flight's safety."

The little redhead frowned. "I'm not sure I'm following you, Everett. What kind of agenda would she have? Surely she won't endanger her equipment -- and therefore us -- unnecessarily."

"I'd hope not, but I have a bad feeling about this mission. Sleds don't just stop working. There are too many redundant systems," Gunther emphasized. "And with that Bigeyed tub, if we do run into trouble, I'll be lightly armed, slow as a pig in space, and likely will have an overly-protective, rank-pulling, intelligence officer to deal with too." Gunther stopped, placing his hand on Swallow Two, looking into Dee Dee's still perplexed face. "Now, I am not saying we need to do fancy flying out of the gate, just if things get hairy. Till then, we do everything by the book, following McGregor's orders as best we can. Understand?" Gunther emphasized. "However, the minute things change, we may need to engage in some unconventional formations and maneuvers out there. You'll be our only serious firepower if things get hot. At least, till the Ready-5 can respond."

Dee Dee delivered a mock but precise salute. "Gotcha," she returned. "Everything by the book, but be ready for anything."

"Hellllooo," Private Young called out upon coming up onto the launch deck. "Lieutenant Gunther, are you up here?"

"Yes, Miss Young," Gunther called back. "We're over here, inspecting Swallow Two." Gunther returned his attention back to Dee Dee, placing his hand on her shoulder. "You're one of the best wingman that I've flown with. Just remember what we've been going over in training, and we'll be fine. Let's hope my intuition is merely paranoia."

Corporal Durst smiled. "Thanks, Mockingbird. I couldn't ask for a better mentor." Seeing Young approaching, the pilot's grin widened and she softly added, "So do you want me to bug on out of here so you can make some time?"

"Actually, yeah," Gunther smiled back. "It would be better that way. I'll meet up with you in the lockers in short while."

"Okay," Dee Dee beamed. "I'll go get suited up. Catch you in the ready room shortly. Hi and bye, Private Young."

Young nodded as the shorter woman passed by. Coming up to Gunther, the deck hand adjusted her glasses and looked up at the interceptor, above them. "Everything look okay on Swallow Two?" she asked simply.

"Yes," Gunther acknowledged. "We looked her over and everything seems fine. Dee Dee will do the pre-flight systems check on the pad just before launch." Gunther looked around the bay, making sure that no one was nearby, and then he moved closer to Miss Young. He looked down into her face, peering past her crooked glasses into her eyes. "I hope that McGregor wasn't giving you too much trouble?"

Maribelle Young shook her head silently, looking above her glasses into Gunther's eyes as the man closed the distance between them, only stopping when their bodies were almost touching. Biting slightly at her bottom lip, the suddenly breathless young private looked around to see if they were alone before managing a soft, "Nope, not too much."

"That's good," Gunther answered back. Though he felt a bit distracted, the softness of Young's voice threw him off a little bit. His pulse had quickened. Pulling himself back to the task at hand, Gunther continued. "She can be a real pain sometimes." Gunther looked back up, perking his ears as well, making sure that no one was sneaking about. He then moved in close again, looking back into Young's eyes. He spoke softly. "The safety of Swallow Flight is my responsibility. However, there are some things that I am still unsure about with the BIGEYE ATMP. Since you refitted the unit to my Lancer, I need your expert advice."

Young blinked and cleared her throat, a little embarrassed about what she'd thought it was the Lieutenant wanted. Backing up a little, she said, "I'll, um, offer whatever advice I can."

"Earlier in the briefing, my CO mentioned that things could get dicey out there. There is no telling why the Sled malfunctioned. Heck, it may even be off course." Gunther waved his hand in dismissal. "That's beside the point."

"It is?" Young asked quietly.

Gunther looked around and then back at Young. He closed the distance again, lowering his voice. "I didn't want to alarm Lieutenant McGregor. She seems to think this whole thing is only a search and rescue operation, but being experienced in these kinds of missions, you never know. The truth is that we may have to pull the BIGEYE out of a combat zone with no initial support. As far as I know, McGregor isn't fully trained in space fighter combat maneuvers, and I'm afraid if all hell breaks loose she might lose her cool. It is my job to make sure that she and the prototype make it back safe and sound."

Young blinked.

"Here's where you come in," Gunther explained gently grasping the woman's shoulders. "I need to understand how the BIGEYE ties into the main computer. I don't want to override McGregor's access, just be able to gain control over the electronics suite myself if needed." Gunther paused, realizing that he had dumped a lot of information on the young private. "Knowing your recent expertise on the internals of the new ATMP, I thought you could clue me in. Does that make sense?"

Still looking over her glasses because of the lieutenant's proximity, Young's brow creased. "You mean you want access to the BIGEYE's controls and data streams and stuff, from the cockpit? I don't think that's very doable... the systems on that pod are completely dedicated. There are some standard connecting feeds that allow for communication, life support monitoring and other system level stuff, but it looks to me like the designers of that ATMP went to a lot of trouble to ensure its electronic independence and integrity. Maybe I could hard-wire the sort of thing you're talking about, but it would take a while, and I don't think McGregor would miss something like that. She's pretty sharp." The crease turned into a frown. "And why don't you trust her? She'll have to have more faith in you than you will in her, right, since you'll be at the controls?"

Gunther stood there silent for a moment, thinking intently before speaking, "You're right private," he agreed. "She would have to trust me, and I should trust her more. I don't know what it is, the woman unnerves me." Gunther's gaze refocused on Young. "And to answer your offer, I wouldn't want you to patch me up a hard link of any kind. That wasn't my point in asking. Besides, you and I would get in bigger trouble than it was worth. I guess I'm just being overly paranoid about this mission for some reason. This is a different type of mission than I'm used to. Flying a non-combatant prototype, I mean. I'm sorry. I hope that I didn't put you in an awkward position?"

Young offered a shy, goofy smile. "Nah -- you would have had a hard time convincing me to monkey with it in any case. I'm already in enough trouble with her for using a non-reg piece of equipment." Catching sight of a wall-mounted readout, she added, "Yeow -- it's getting close to launch time. Shouldn't you go get suited up?"

Looking over at the same panel, Gunther's eyes widened. "Yeah, I should," he acknowledged, seeming frozen, something on his mind. Gunther looked strangely a bit nervous. "However there was one more thing that I wanted to ask you."

"What's that?" Young asked, cocking her head slightly.

Gunther moved closer, and he laid on some innocent charm. "After our mishap yesterday in Hangar 4, I've been thinking about you a lot. I would like a chance to share dinner with you sometime," Gunther admitted. "You know, get to know you a bit better. We could try for a picnic on the observation deck." The hangar horn sounded off, signaling ten minutes till launch. "Dang, I gotta go," Gunther cursed. "Maybe after this patrol, we could settle a time?"

Young, who had been looking down, jumped when the klaxon sounded. Gunther could see that her cheeks were burning. "Uh... I... I have to get to my station..." she fumbled. Zipping over towards the access to the main bay area, she turned to look back at the pilot before exiting. "Good luck, and... erm... see me when you get back!" she called out.

"Yeah," Gunther called back, starting for the lockers himself. As he watched Young disappear, he thought to himself, Damn, what was that about? That was totally bad timing on my part. As he left the hangar, he resolved that he would have to be more subtle with Miss Young.

Marine Sergeants Tucker and Mandrake sat in one of the small galleys in the main hull, talking quietly over a light meal. Nora Tucker was a thick-bodied woman with strong limbs and a round, honest face. Her brown hair was pulled back into a stubby little ponytail, and it was obvious that she, like Mandrake across from her, still hadn't showered. Having finished discussing some of the details of their VR exercise, Tucker changed the subject.

"So Harry -- if I can call you Harry -- how are you settling in? You've inherited something of a tough squad, if you haven't noticed. Ellis, the new girl -- she has a good head on her shoulders, and Ng is as reliable as they come. The other two can be a handful, though, eh?" As Tucker finished her question, the entire hull buzzed and vibrated as two of the Fierce's big catapults hurled Swallow Flight out into space.

Harry leaned back in this chair, checking with a quick flick of his eyes that no one could overhear their conversion as he did so. "Harry's just fine. Yeah, Ellis and Ng are good. From her file it looks like Ellis was very highly thought of at her last posting. I haven't made up my mind about the other two yet. I think La Rue could go far if she learns to keep her temper under control. Brinks I'm not sure about. They cause much trouble before I came on board?"

Tucker lifted her eyebrows. "Yeah," she answered plainly. "Nothing too serious, but La Rue's been in the brig once or twice for disorderly conduct. Here's what I think: if we can tame La Rue, get her to settle down, that'll help Brinks as well. He takes a lot of his cues from her, and when she's at her worst, so is he. Deep down, he's a good kid. Strong as an ox, and about as smart. He follows orders well enough, but don't rely on him to think his way out of a situation -- you've probably already gathered that much. Kerin's got brains, she just doesn't always use them."

Leaning in a little closer to her fellow marine, Tucker lowered her voice and added, "I think drugs might be part of her problem. I watched La Rue put on about twenty five pounds of muscle in something like six weeks last year, and it was at about that time that she really started having issues with aggression."

Harry sat silently for a moment. This was an unexpected and unwelcome development which could easily get beyond his control. "This could be a serious problem," he said finally. "Have you discussed this with anyone else? Has Duran said anything?"

"No," Tucker said with a shake of her head. "I don't have any proof, and none of the other marines have ever said anything. And as far as telling Duran... well, Jon's a good man, but I think this is the sort of thing he expects his squad leaders to deal with so he doesn't have to. It's not like La Rue is a liability -- she's always one of the top performers in our exercises, live or virtual. I just thought I should share my opinions and suspicions, since you're the one saddled with keeping her in line, and since she's kind of been acting up lately."

Harry nodded. "Thanks. I'll see if I can't get her to calm down a bit regardless of any problems she might have. It would be a shame if this developed into something that threatened her career."

"It would," Tucker agreed.

"I'll have it to give it some thought, but for the moment I'm going to take a shower and have a nap. See you at 0600." Harry said as he rose.

Tucker lifted her drink. "I'll see you then, Harry."

Once out of the galley on his way to habitat module 1 and the showers, Harry paused for a moment to use his datapad to make an appointment to see Doctor Zelios.

"This is Swallow One, standing by. All systems are green."

"Swallow Two, standing by. I'm green."

The two Lancers of Swallow Flight stood set to launch, their engines idling and their pilots ready. In the belly of Swallow One's massive ATMP, Lieutenant Athena McGregor sat nestled amidst a jungle of electronics. Cramped but not uncomfortable, the JAFI officer was surrounded by readouts and controls on virtually all sides.

Gunther called out to McGregor over the main channel. "How you doing Lieutenant? You aren't to cramped I hope. The catapult launches can be pretty unnerving unless you're comfortable."

"Fine, Lieutenant, thanks," McGregor replied. "I'm familiar with catapult launches. Used to go through them all the time on the Marathon," she replied in perfect dead-pan.

Corporal Wickter's digital voice sounded in the helmets of Gunther, Durst and McGregor. "Swallow Flight, you are cleared for launch," she said crisply. "Catapults will fire in thirty seconds."

"Roger that Flight Control," Gunther returned, recognizing Wickter's voice. "It is good to be greeted by your angelic voice this fine morning, Flight Control. I hope you are having a better day?"

"Can you, please, Lieutenant, try to keep it in your pants for once in your life," asked McGregor from the BIGEYE pod, making sure the comment went out over the open channel to the Fierce.

Durst laughed out loud across the open channel, but Wickter's only response was a cool, "Fifteen seconds."

"Keep it in my pants?" Gunther responded, sounding surprised. "I certainly don't know what you are talking about, Lieutenant McGregor. I merely stated that Flight Control has an angelic voice. Which Corporal Wickter does. It was a well-meaning and sincere compliment. Where did it suddenly become a phallic reference as you aspire it to be?"

Wickter's sigh could be heard across the comm. "Ten seconds."

"What phallic reference are you talking about?" McGregor asked. "Five seconds," she added in sync with Wickter.

"Well, isn't that precious," Gunther retorted, settling back into his seat preparing for launch. "I've got short-term memory loss woman onboard. Well Miss McGregor, I certainly hope your seat and tray table are in their upright position." Wickter called out the final seconds. "Oh, and the barf bag is in the console to your right." Gunther settled his attention onto the Lancer's controls and let out a yell. "Give me wings, Susan!"

"Mark, Swallow Flight, you are a go," Wickter declared as Swallow One was violently hurled down one of the runways that ran laterally down the Fierce's hull. Gunther and McGregor were both slammed against their seats, multiple gees of force pinning them back.

A few seconds later, Swallow Two launched as well, its airframe shuddering as it struck down the runway and out into space. "Waahooooo!" Durst exclaimed, followed quickly by a "Whoa!" as her Lancer blasted past her flight leader's. As Dee Dee pulled her fighter around to rejoin formation, the JAFI officer in the belly of Gunther's interceptor relaxed as the gees finally let up.

"First, it's 'Lieutenant' to you, Lieutenant, not 'Miss,'" McGregor explained as politely as she could after the initial shock of her first catapult flight wore off. Although she really wanted to give the boy a public dressing-down, she had switched the communication line to the internal cockpit-to-cockpit line. "I'm more than happy to point you to the section in the regulations in case you've forgotten how to address a fellow officer or an enlisted person. Second, there's no short-term memory problem involved. I made no 'phallic' reference. If I were to make a phallic reference, I'd comment on the way you grip your control stick a little too tightly or on the shape of this vehicle we're in. Those are phallic-based comments. The comment I made, 'Keep it in your pants,' is not a 'phallic-based comment' by any reasonable definition of any of those terms.

"HOWEVER," she continued on the closed channel, "that's all more or less irrelevant, which by staggering coincidence describes the nature of your comments to Corporal Wickter just now about her voice or your earlier comments to me about my backside or a potentially endless sequence of comments to the various women you've come across in your lifetime. Whether the corporal has a nice voice or not has nothing at all to do with you doing your job or her doing hers. My backside has nothing to do with mine, except for when I'm filing paperwork, and then it's my business and not yours. Comments such as those you seem bent on making do not flatter us. They do not make us happy to be working with you. They, in fact, insult us deeply. With a single sentence, you have gathered up years of training on our part, crumpled it up, and tossed it aside. You have reduced us to physical objects for the sating of your libido, Lieutenant Gunther, whether you intend to or not. We -- and I mean women in general -- do not exist for your -- and I mean men in general -- sexual gratification. I strongly recommend that you -- and I mean you, Lieutenant Gunther -- enroll in sensitivity training as soon as possible before you cross a line that has nothing but your own disgrace on the other side. God forbid you ever tell the captain she smells nice or the president she has a nice rack!"

Noticing that McGregor had switched her signal to internal communications only, Gunther decided to dismiss her rantings for the time being. "Excuse me Lieutenant, I am sorry to interrupt. We can deal with that issue shortly. First, I need to tend to my wingman and report status to Flight Control before we begin your tests." Smiling wryly, the pilot looked out his small cockpit window and saw Dee Dee fall into formation. He switched to an open channel. "Flight Control, this is Swallow One reporting in, status green. Swallow One is good to go. Swallow Two, looked like you got a little ahead of us but glad you're back in formation. Report status?"

Dee Dee radioed back, "This is Swallow Two, in formation and matching vectors. Swallow One, I'm following your lead." Switching to a private line, Durst worked the controls of her Lancer to stay on Gunther's wing and smiled as the glorious starfield filled her vision. "Mockingbird, just so you know... Susan looks pregnant."

Making sure that McGregor's private comm link was muted, Gunther chuckled and replied, "Yeah, you wouldn't believe how the officer in her belly is crying and kicking either. Damn labor pains."

"Oh?" Durst's voice came back. "Did she have trouble with the launch?"

"Can't say," Gunther replied back. "She's too busy being mad at me for calling her Miss instead of Lieutenant. She seems to be a woman of the uniform, if you catch my drift."

Dee Dee frowned a little behind her faceplate. She didn't like having to say what she was about to say, but it was for her friend's own good. "You know, she's not the only one who feels that way. It is a little weird. You don't call Lieutenant Spencer 'Mr. Spencer,' after all."

Gunther didn't answer right away, reflecting for a moment. "So it bothers you too? You think I'm a male chauvinist?"

Dee Dee shifted uncomfortably in her cockpit. "I think you're a sweet guy," she answered. "Who sometimes doesn't realize when he's being insensitive. Just treat McGregor like you would any male officer -- that'll make her happy, trust me."

"Hmm, I guess I just don't think about that," Gunther admitted.

"I know," Durst responded delicately. "But it really is disrespectful, to all women. I heard you made a crack about McGregor's ass yesterday -- that's just not cool. Do you make comments about my butt? No, because you respect who I am and don't care if I have or haven't spent a little extra time in the gym. Have you seen the look in the Lieutenant's eyes? She will bust you for that kind of behavior. I'd watch what I said to Flight Control, too. She's already reported you once." The young woman's tone lightened. "But hey, do what you want. Maybe if you get thrown in the brig I'll get to lead Swallow Flight!"

Taken aback by Dee Dee's brashness, Gunther was silenced. In fact, he felt a little betrayed, flabbergasted in how to respond. When did Dee Dee start feeling this way? She had joked with him the other day following the incident with the marines. However, he realized that he was still waiting on Flight Control to confirm the flight plan. He pushed his puzzlement out of his mind, for the moment. "Flight Control, this is Swallow One. We are still waiting on confirmation," Gunther called out, getting back to the business of beginning their patrol.

Corporal Wickter's voice filled all three cockpits again. "Swallow Flight, this is flight control. You are cleared for egress to waypoint one. Grackle Flight, your Ready-5 standby status begins now."

There was a moment of silence before Valkurie figured out that he was receiving orders. "Uh... Roger... Roger that Control. Grackle Flight confirms Ready-5 status."

Reestablishing all of his comm systems to public, Gunther responded back to Flight Control. "Roger that, we are en route to waypoint one. We will follow prescribed flight path, executing approved in-flight maneuvers for testing the prototype ATMP. Swallow Flight out."

Gunther switched to in-Flight communications, opening a private channel to Swallow Two. "OK Dee Dee, this is it. Remember, we do this by the book. Move into a forward echelon left formation, 100 meters clearance for now. We don't want you hanging off my tail. This thing moves like a Mule; I'd rather have you in front of me."

"Roger roger," Dee Dee returned, already peeling away. "Assuming forward echelon left formation, point one click separation in three... two... one... mark. Swallow Two, in position."

"Sounds good, Dee Dee," Gunther responded. "Now if you'll excuse me I have to help solve some issues with Lieutenant McGregor. The channel will be open for you to alert me if you need to, but I'll be silent for a time."

Durst nodded her head and gave a thumbs up to Gunther's position, though he was too distant to see it. "Gotcha. I'll take point while you perform some damage control," she smiled. Raising the Fierce, she continued, "Control, this is Swallow Two. Swallow Flight is outbound to one, ETA two hours six minutes."

"Confirmed, Swallow Flight. The skies are clear, you are on target and at speed. Good luck," came Wickter's reply.

Gunther reconfigured his comm channels, placing his links to Swallow Two and Flight Control on receive only, and then opening the internal channel to McGregor. "Sorry about that, Lieutenant. I had to tend to my initial flight duties. You were saying?"

"You heard me, Gunther," McGregor replied with irritation. "Honestly, I don't know why I bother. If you continue to harass me or if you continue to harass enlisted personnel with me present to witness it or if I hear complaints from other personnel, I will file a report that you can read as often as you want in case you miss the salient points. I'm signing off now; I'll be down here if you need me before we reach the waypoint. Otherwise, don't bother." She switched off her communications system and started feeding test data to the Bigeye executor.

"Lieutenant McGregor," Gunther exclaimed. "Wait a sec. I wanted to--" he continued before noticing that her comm link to his cockpit was down. "Damn."

Switching back to public channels, he addressed Dee Dee and Flight Control. "Swallow One reporting in. Lieutenant McGregor has, er... bypassed the issues for the time being. We will be beginning tests on schedule. Swallow Flight will continue to the first waypoint in forward echelon left formation. Swallow One to Flight Control, out."

Gunther then switched to a private channel to Swallow Two. "Dee Dee, continue to maintain formation, maintain cruising speed of 250 meters per second relative to the Fierce. McGregor is beginning tests... I think."

Dr. Zelios looked up from his data tablet and waved Sergeant Mandrake into the examining room. "Ah. 0930 already, is it?" the middle-aged physician commented, glancing at Mandrake's recently made appointment. After using his scanner to take the man's vitals as he came into the room, Zelios patted the examination bed. "Have a seat, Sergeant. What's the problem today? Your levels look rock-solid."

Harry took a seat on the bed. "Actually doctor, it wasn't me that I came to see you about. I was hoping we could have a talk in confidence about one of my squad members."

"Oh?" Zelios returned with a raised eyebrow. "You're aware a doctor's code of ethics prevents him from divulging private information about his patients, are you not?" he asked somewhat caustically. "I hope that's not the kind of thing you're talking about."

Harry held out his hand, palm outwards. "I don't think that will be problem, doctor, though I will remind you that I am responsible for my squad and that you should report to me anything that could adversely affect its members. But leaving that aside, I'm concerned about Corporal Kerin La Rue's... aggressive behavior. I wanted to talk to you about this sooner or later, but I have been given reason to believe her behavior may be the result of steroid use and I decided sooner was better. So I wanted to ask you, could this be a possibility?"

Zelios was silent for a moment as he looked to the ceiling. "It's a fine line we physicians have to tread you know. The Hippocratic Oath is well over two thousand years old. While it remains fundamentally sound, there do exist certain situations that can be considered... exceptions." The doctor focused back on Mandrake. "It's very possible that Corporal La Rue is taking some kind of testosterone supplement. Likely something synthetic, like an AAS -- that's an anabolic / androgenic steroid. She's never tested positive for anything, but these drugs are used in cycles, and people get proficient at hiding their use of them."

"Certain side effects, however, are impossible to hide," Zelios continued. "And the side effects of such drugs are many for a woman. Acne and coarsened skin. An increased libido. A deepening of the voice. Menstrual irregularities. Increased facial and body hair. Decreased breast tissue. Increased anxiety and aggression. Long-term side effects are considerably more serious. Cardiovascular disease and liver damage are the most common."

"Ah, well, she doesn't appear to be exhibiting all of those, so maybe it's a false alarm," said Harry, feeling slightly relieved.

"There are of course many other drugs that prevent or diminish certain of a steroid's side effects. Often someone using steroids will be taking a 'cocktail' that includes designer drugs meant to do nothing other than block some of the steroid's undesired effects."

"I see..." said Harry, frowning. "The question is, what do we do now? I don't want to cause trouble for Corporal La Rue if she's not taking steroids, on the other hand I'm concerned about her behavior regardless whether she is or not. The 2V-10 situation is another complication. I don't want to have to take a marine off the roster just before a major operation, but if she's behaving erratically I don't want her to be a danger to herself or the rest of the platoon."

Dr. Zelios nodded. "I understand your dilemma. By all accounts, she's a good marine, if an overzealous one. She certainly has problems with aggressive behavior. Since you're new aboard the Fierce, you may not know that La Rue ends up sending someone to the sick bay every few weeks, usually because of a brawl. Lieutenant Gunther was in here just yesterday because of her, in fact. Broken nose."

"Yes, I'd heard the lieutenant had had an accident. I was hoping La Rue wasn't involved, but I didn't think it was very likely, even after I had specifically instructed her to stay away from him. This is what I'm worried about, eventually she's going to hit someone who isn't willing to shrug it off, and then she'll be in real trouble."

Zelios scratched at the thinning hair that was hidden by his medical hood. "As far as determining whether she's actually on steroids of some kind, your best bet might be to interview the rest of the squad. If that doesn't work, we could always pop a surprise drug screening on her. Though if she tests false, you risk losing her trust."

Harry rubbed his eyes. He'd missed his chance for a nap and was now in serious need of sleep. "Well, Ellis is new and I'd rather leave Brinks out of this, that just leaves Ng. I'll have a proper talk with both him and La Rue before I take this any further, but can you suggest anything in regards to her behavior?"

"Ha!" the doctor laughed. "Your predecessor, Sergeant Wilcox, once asked me the same thing. I'm no psychologist, but it's not difficult to see that La Rue has issues. Perhaps it's drugs making it worse, but the core of her problems come from her own insecurities, I'd expect." Zelios waved his hands in the air. "But I'm not the man to ask about that sort of thing. I believe Dr. Gilmour has some clinical psychology in her background, and emotional counseling, as well. You'd be better off talking to her."

"Okay, maybe I'll make an appointment with her later. One more question, if La Rue is taking some sort of drugs, any idea where she's getting them from?"

"I'm sure I have no idea," Zelios said frostily. "The various medicinal steroids we have here aren't the kinds of AASes we're talking about. She could have her own supply, or a source aboard the ship, I suppose. But I'd hate to point fingers," he finished.

"Ah well, it was just a thought," said Harry as he stood up. "Thanks for your help -- I trust you won't repeat this to anyone. I'll let you or Doctor Gilmour know when I find out anything else."

Leaving the infirmary, Harry headed for the marine dormitory and his bunk.

Corporal Delilah Durst's eyes glazed over as she watched the autopilot adjust her heading with painstaking deliberation, as it had been doing for the last two hours. After arriving at their destination, the two Lancer pilots had patiently followed Lieutenant McGregor's instructions to the letter, and had silently waited while the JAFI officer launched her drones into position, deployed all the subsystems, and had finally fired up the whole suite to begin the search in earnest. The search pattern called for frequent but minute heading adjustments, and it wasn't long before both Gunther and Dee Dee turned that mind-numbing duty over to the their autopilots. Now, nearly two hours later, the BIGEYE pod still hadn't even gotten a glimpse of anything out of the ordinary.

Swallow One hung motionless in space. Booms, antennas, masts, dishes, receivers and transmitters of all shapes, sizes and capabilities had spidered out from the Bigeye ATMP. It gave the interceptor a fragile, delicate look, overshadowing the girth of the pod itself. If Gunther's Lancer hadn't been suited for combat before, it was now looked virtually helpless.

Looking out of the small view ports in his cockpit, Gunther thought to himself, "It really is amazing everything that they fit into that ATMP. I swear, Susan must look like a beached sea urchin."

"So..." Dee Dee began, breaking about thirty minutes of radio silence, "anything yet?"

There was a long pause as Gunther waited for Lieutenant McGregor to respond. When she didn't, he called out himself. "Lieutenant, what are you finding out there?"

Down in the belly of the whale, McGregor leaned back from her console a little to reply. "Nothing much so far, Lieutenant. I am on passive right now, though, and if the sled is in as much trouble as I expect it to be, it's probably not emitting much of anything at the moment to detect. I've got... Oh, call it three possible occultations coming up with some magnitude 8 stars, but that assumes the sled is where it should be. And I'm not expecting that. Whenever you think it's safe to go active, give the word and I'll light up the sky."

"Well, given that we're just sitting here looking like a beached sea urchin, I could say I would feel much more comfortable lighting up the sky if we were moving," Gunther admitted. "However, if we're going to find this missing Sled, I suppose we must. But first..." Gunther flipped a switch and his sensor panel zoomed out given him view over a greater range. "Dee Dee, are you seeing anything on your sensors? I want to get an independent readout."

Durst touched a few buttons in her cockpit and slewed her fighter around in a variety of directions. "Nothing on my passive scopes," she returned, shifting in her cockpit to relieve a cramp in her leg.

"Ok then," Gunther acknowledged to Durst. Then, remembering the lieutenant's comments in the briefing room on the uncertain effects on human physiology, he toyed a bit with McGregor. "Lieutenant, we won't need sun glasses for this will we? I left my pair in my quarters."

McGregor rolled her eyes. What a ponce, she thought. "No, Lieutenant, not unless you want to stand in front of the emitter array when I go to deep scan mode. They won't actually do you any good, but they might help you relax as your DNA is unwound."

"Well then, Lieutenant McGregor, let's light up the night!" Gunther exclaimed with a bit of exuberant bravado.

"Roger," she replied. "Initiating scan mode. Stand by." Switching her attention to the Bigeye console, she mumbled under her breath, "Okay, beast, let's see what you can do."

The interior lighting of the pod dimmed slightly, and a cooling fan in the life support system came to a halt as 90% of the pod's power was diverted to the active sensor systems. Outside the ship, the sensor bristles practically leaped forward as the Bigeye fired off several bursts of electromagnetic radiation at hundreds of different wavelengths.

"Jeeze!" Durst exclaimed, seeing Swallow One light up on her passives like a supernova. Waves of radiation washed out over the stars, painting them in an electromagnetic mosaic that lit up every asteroid, ice crystal and dust particle for thousands upon thousands of kilometers around. McGregor's breath caught in her throat. Not only had the active systems worked, but they'd found something. Something big.

Watching Susan's sensor console, Gunther was as astonished as Durst. "Holy mother!" Gunther exclaimed. "And the good Lord said, 'Let there be light!'"

"I believe you and Corporal Durst should be seeing the results of the first ping about now," McGregor commented. "Just a moment... Here comes number two."

Another pulse brought clarity to the contact. It was a vessel. Two thousand meters long, two hundred wide, it could only be the missing sled. It was off-course, and moving very fast -- much faster than any Hanson sled normally traveled at this point in the circuit.

"There it is," McGregor noted.

"That has gotta be the sled!" Gunther exclaimed.

McGregor continued. "Patching the data directly to the Fierce via comlaser now... Also, let's be on the lookout for..."

Scouring the data streams for more information about the sled, McGregor almost didn't notice the second contact. It was much smaller, much fainter, and much much closer. Directing part of the passive array in its direction, the Lieutenant frowned when nothing registered. Another burst of the active sensors illuminated the ephemeral contact so that even the stock Lancer sensors picked it up.

"...that," McGregor concluded.

"What the hell is that, and where did it come from?" Dee Dee exclaimed. As the active pulse faded, so did the contact from Gunther and Durst's scopes. "And where the hell did it go?!" the young pilot cried out.

As surprised by the new contact as Durst, Gunther got excited. "I saw it too! But only for an instant." He started flipping console switches, then frowned. "The computer couldn't get a fix on the vector. Although it was close, maybe too close for comfort. Lieutenant, were your computers able to make out anything more on that second contact?"

McGregor ran a powerful processing algorithm on the signal. "Initial analysis suggests a ship of some sort, probably a cruiser or a destroyer. Maybe it's one of ours. Captain noted in the briefing that we wouldn't be the only Fleet ships out here, though we were supposed to be the first." She checked the status of her processing. Not quite done. "Not a pirate, that's for sure. Not with this signature. If it's barely registering, it's probably quite stealthy. Hm. Let me amend that statement: not a typical pirate. If it is a pirate, it's probably backed by a powerful ally that almost certainly wants to remain unknown."

The JAFI officer checked her process once again: insufficient data. "That's not good," she muttered. "Gunther, hold your course, please, but yaw and pitch a couple of degrees like so..." She fed some data to the cockpit. "I'm going to swing the drone array around to match, but it will take a few moments to come into alignment. Then I'm going to ping that sucker so hard it'll lose velocity with the impacting radiation. This is probably a fine time to remind you that the drones are expendable and capable of auto-scuttling. Ahem. Almost in exactly the same way that torpedoes are self-scuttling, if you catch my drift. If it gets dicey, I'll transfer drone control to you, hotshot, and let you work out a firing solution."

"I had thought the drones might work that way, but I didn't want to probe to deep into your secrets," Gunther admitted. "Dee Dee, switch to random scrambler pattern Swallow Alpha Nine. If this thing can hide from us; it is likely trying to listen in." Gunther patched into the scrambler program, transmitting the program name to Flight Control. "Swallow Two, stay with me."

As Swallow One gently changed direction and the Bigeye drones rocketed into position, Dee Dee felt a lump form in her throat. She'd never been in actual combat before. "A destroyer or a cruiser," she said over the comm, working her own sensor panel intently, but coming up empty. "I sure hope to hell it is one of ours, then."

"Lieutenant," Gunther called out to McGregor. "I need to know the maximum acceleration that I can place BIGEYE under with her appendages extended, any ideas?"

"We designed this baby to the same standards as the IM-09 spaceframe," she replied. "My sensors booms are off-the-shelf identical to yours. No problems there."

"That's what I wanted to hear," Gunther replied. "Dee Dee, till we really know what we're up against, we need to stay in formation and preserve remass. After the lieutenant has finished her last scan, we'll move out at one gee. I know that's slow, but it's about all Susan can push without hitting the afterburners. We may need that remass later." Looking at his scope, he couldn't even see the Fierce, only the waypoint marker and still-distant Grackle Flight. "Damn, we're alone out here. Lieutenant, I've adjusted our yaw and pitch for you. You were going to get another reading?"

"The array is position. Firing again," McGregor announced. This time the pulse was so powerful both Lancers lost radio communications for several seconds, and Gunther thought he could still hear static on the line once the comm was back up.

"See it?" McGregor asked, immediately directing all of her passive scanners at what was now clearly a ship.

"Yes... huh, where did it go?" Gunther exclaimed, flabbergasted.

"I had it, but it's gone again," Dee Dee said with frustration. "Is it an EM ghost of some kind? I've heard stories of ships picking up the EM 'shadows' of other vessels hundreds of thousands of clicks away."

"I don't buy it," Gunther exclaimed. "I've seen EM ghosts before. Lieutenant?"

"No," McGregor replied, "that was no ghost. Hang on..." She narrowed her eyes and locked the target. "I've still got it," she proclaimed. "Give me a minute..."

Wickter's voice suddenly sounded in all three helmets. "Swallow Flight, this is Fierce Control. We are receiving your sensor stream -- looks like you've found the sled. Good work. The Captain sends her personal congratulations."

Before McGregor could update the Fierce on the situation, the results of the analysis displayed on one of her screens. It was a Venusian cruiser, Imperator-class. Initial telescope findings were that the hull was unmarked, and had a very dark coating of some sort that made it difficult to make out detail. It had come about and was making its way towards their position at what looked like top speed -- about two gees of acceleration. As McGregor was about to announce her findings, a trio of new contacts appeared and shot out ahead of the ship. They weren't as stealthy as the Imperator, and it only took the BIGEYE a few seconds to identify them. Three Ryu exo-armors.

"Oh, lovely," McGregor said under her breath. "Gunther, I'm downloading the logs from the drones... Done. And transferring drone control to you. We've got three Ryus, inbound, and that's a light cruiser that just launched them. If you ever wanted to impress a lady, this would be the time to do it."

Looking over his computer console, Gunther punched up the virtual interface. "Confirmed Lieutenant. Drones are under my computer voice and console command." The pilot searched his scope for the exos, but didn't see anything. Checking the last position of the cruiser he had seen seconds before, he cursed silently to himself. Damn. In this position, we're leading them straight for the Fierce.

"Dee Dee," Gunther continued, lighting his engines. "We're moving out. Change heading to match my vector. One gee until those bogeys enter our standard scopes. Lieutenant, if you haven't transmitted your logs to Flight Control, I suggest you do so now. I have other business to attend to."

McGregor scratched her head. "No, the logs aren't for the Fierce. They're for me to study once you get us out of this mess, with the assumption that the drones aren't going to make it."

Gunther raised the carrier. "Flight Control, this is Swallow Flight. We have three bogeys and a light cruiser of Venusian build and unknown disposition, all headed in your direction. We have altered our heading 45 degrees off your port, to hopefully draw them off and give you room to move. We need immediate backup. Flight Control, please confirm."

A few seconds later, Corporal Wickter's voice came over the comm. "Swallow One, copy that. Stand by for instruction."

Gunther touched his scanning interface, switching his sensors to active, but saw nothing; the Ryus were still out of range. However, that likely wouldn't last. "Dee Dee, you and I are likely going to have to use some unconventional tactics here till the cavalry arrives. It will be more important than ever that we work as a team. We're going to have to use the BIGEYE as bait."

"Bait?!" Durst exclaimed. "Mockingbird, that's not exactly the quickest Lancer in space, at the moment..." Remembering protocol, and that McGregor was listening in, her tone become more professional. "I mean roger that, Swallow One. Swallow Two, standing by."

"It's in your hands and God's, now," McGregor's voice sounded. "And, Corporal? I'd rather be insulted and alive than have you worry about offending me so much that you second-guess your well honed reflexes."

Dee Dee smiled. "Roger roger, Lieutenant."

"Swallow Flight, this is Fierce Flight Control," Wickter broke in. "We have Grackle Flight inbound, ETA twenty six minutes. Finch Flight will be in the air and inbound presently, and the rest of the squadron is scrambling. You are to make best speed away from the contacts." There was a slight pause, and Wickter added, "I have Captain Delacroix on the line."

Delacroix's distinctive voice sounded in Swallow Flight's cockpits. "Gunther, McGregor, Durst -- excellent work out there. Now, come home. Forget about trying to establish radio contact, and engage only if there is no alternative -- make retreating your priority. I want you three and that pod back safely. Understood?"

"Understood," Gunther acknowledged. "Dee Dee, get ready to kick in the afterburners on my mark! Flight Control, the exos may be too fast for us. I anticipate we will be forced into defensive engagement, over."

"Do what you can, Lieutenant," Delacroix returned. "Help is on the way."

Turning their Lancers around, Gunther and Durst blasted off for the Fierce as fast as the Bigeye could manage. Minutes later, it became obvious that the Ryus were gaining.

"Uh, there they are," Dee Dee announced. "Three of them, coming in fast." On both Lancers' scopes, the cruiser also appeared as it pulsed its own active sensors. It remained on their sensors, behind the Ryus, though it was a flickering, tenuous contact. Arming her weapon systems, Durst tried unsuccessfully to rid herself of the lump in her throat by swallowing. "They're splitting up!" she said nearly yelled into the comm. "Two high, one low!"

"Hold tight Dee Dee," Gunther encouraged. "This is good. I'm betting a rookie pilot is one of the pair. Durst, on my mark I want you to initiate a full afterburn. You're fastest, so you take the high road, and I'll take the low road. Do a pure vertical turn on the upward Z, arcing back down on a full thrust dive toward me. If they take the bait you'll get the lag pursuit you need for an angle of zero on the one or maybe all of them, catching them on their backsides. If everything goes better than I hope, we'll both get that shot. You got it?"

"Understood," Dee Dee replied seriously. "Ready."

"And, Durst, don't forget your missile defense systems." Gunther punched his console to activate his own missile defense array. Looking at the position of the gaining Ryus, Gunther suddenly remembered McGregor. "McGregor, you may black out. Just remember to keep breathing." At that, Gunther didn't even wait for McGregor to acknowledge. "Now Durst! Punch it!" Gunther yelled as he kicked in the afterburners and went into a sweeping turn on the downward Z.

Swallow Two's engines flared as it pulled up into a steep climb, directly away from Swallow One's slower, arching dive.

Gunther watched on his scope as the pair of closer Ryu exo-armors split up, one going high and one low as they each attempted to get into the six o'clock area of the fleeing Lancers. Their speed was phenomenal -- very near that of a stock Lancer, and far beyond the capabilities Gunther remembered from flight school.

McGregor, pinned against her seat and not feeling at all well as Swallow One bounced and shuddered through its high gee turn, also noted the acceleration of the Venusian exo-armors. Were these stock Ryus?

"One's on my tail," Durst announced evenly. Gunther checked his scopes and saw that he'd picked up the other one. Neither were close enough to attempt a shot, but the Ryu behind Dee Dee looked to be angling to cut her loop off mid-flight, intercepting her before she could complete it. Switching to a longer range view, he saw that the third Ryu was breaking away from the furball -- towards the Fierce.

End Week 3 Summary (June 24-30, 2002)

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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.