Week 6 Summary (July 15-21, 2002)

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Things had settled considerably for Mandrake and Ellis in the last hour, as damage control teams finished their immediate fixes and started working on and scheduling time for major repairs.

Communicating with Private Ellis through runic hand-signals had gotten tiresome, but it had done the trick. Both marines were sweat-slicked inside their armor; the past few hours had been exhausting. Now, back on security detail, the pair watched as a diminutive crewman approached their position.

"Uh..." the young engineer began, "Hi. I'm Milo Brown. Er, Private Brown. I've been told that one of you is still having some trouble with your communications gear. Did... did you want me to have a look at it? I'm pretty good with that sort of thing."

Ellis glanced sideways at her Sergeant, looking for his approval (or disapproval) before answering.

"Go ahead, Private," replied Harry. "But is there much you can do while she's still in the suit?"

Brown looked up at the pair of towering, armored marines. "It... uh... it depends. On where the problem is. I can reach the transmitter and receiver through a rear access panel, I think. But if it's a problem with the line or is in her headgear, I won't be able to do much."

Ellis looked from the engineer to her Sergeant -- she hadn't caught the last bit of conversation, and was about to sign her confusion when Mandrake told her down in runic.

As she complied, Mandrake took her by the arm to let her know she only had to kneel, not go prone. As she did, Private Brown moved around behind her and started fiddling with the back of her suit. He made various humming and hawing noises, and focused very intently on his work as a number of tools found their way into his hands.

"Mandrake, Tucker, you copy?" Warrant Officer Duran's gruff, mildly distorted voice suddenly sounded in the Sergeant's ears.

"Yes sir," he answered, followed shortly by Tucker saying the same thing.

"We're about ready to head off for this SAR. I want your squads off security duty ASAP so they can get some proper rest -- I've already talked to the captain about it. And depending, you two might have to tackle the sled alone at first. If we meet resistance and that destroyer isn't on hand to help us out, we may be some time maneuvering around to make the grab. FYI."

"Yes sir. Good luck with the recovery -- see you when you get back." Cutting the connection to Duran, Harry turned back to Brown. "How's it look, Private?" he asked.

Brown looked up from his perch, half on top of Ellis. He held in one hand a disassembled communicator he'd produced from somewhere, while his other still poked around inside the back of the marine's suit. "Making progress," he said simply.

Harry nodded in acknowledgement.

Selecting the squad's general frequency, Harry relayed Duran's orders. "Mandrake to squad. We're standing down from security detail. Regroup back at the flight deck."

Brinks, La Rue and Ng all checked in, and all reported that they'd be at the flight deck shortly.

"Ha!" Brown yelped. "Got it! Can you hear me, private?"

Ellis turned her head in an effort to see behind her. "I can," she answered, her voice distant but clear.

Private Brown closed the panel on the rear of the Decker and started pocketing his many implements. "Mission accomplished," he smiled.

Ellis stood up and saluted the small man. "Thank you, Private. Much better." Looking at Mandrake, she added, "I'm back online, sir. No more hand signals!"

"Good. Just in time to go off duty, too," said Harry wryly. "We're meeting the rest of the squad back at the flight deck." He turned his attention back to Brown. "Good work there, Private. Thanks. We'll let you get back to the difficult jobs now."

Brown shrugged. "I figured it would only take a minute to fix."

Ellis thanked the young man again, then turned to join her squad leader. As they made their way to the elevator, Harry let himself relax for the first time in many hours. Decker exo-suits were designed to be worn for continuously for several days if necessary, but Harry still wished he could get out and scratch. As they waited for the elevator to arrive he turned to examine his subordinate. "How are you holding up Ellis? I know I can't wait to get out of this suit and you being struck a deaf mute can't have helped at all," he asked.

"I'm doing okay," Ellis responded. "Much better now that I can hear and speak. That wasn't much fun. Getting out and grabbing a shower sounds like a great idea, I have to say." Walking onto the lift, the pair of exo-suited marines headed for the hangar as a few seconds of silence descended over them. Ellis wordlessly admired the dragon Mandrake had painted on his armor, then spoke candidly. "Sergeant Mandrake," she began, "I have kind of a personal question. Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Harry grinned and waved his hand in permission. He guessed it was only natural to be talkative after a long period of enforced silenced. "Sure Ellis, what is it?"

"Well..." Ellis began after a moment's hesitation, "word has it that one of your parents -- your mother, I think -- was from Earth. Is that true? And have you... ever been there?"

Harry's smile froze on his face. Where had she heard that? he thought. "Uh, yes, that's right, my mother was a visiting researcher at the IGS base on Titan. She went back to Earth soon after I was born." Harry shifted uncomfortably, this wasn't something he thought about often. "But I haven't been there myself -- I grew up around Titan and Olympus. It would be an interesting place to visit someday though. Why do you ask?"

"I was born on the Moon," Ellis replied. "My parents moved out to Dalton station when I was eight, so I've spent most of my life here in Confederation space... but my most vivid memory is from my sixth birthday, when we visited Earth. We went camping in an area unaffected by all the wars and pollution -- in the Northern Resource Zone. I'll never forget it. The trees, the air, the animals and insects, and most of all the vast, vast blue skies. It's like a dream to me now." It was Ellis' turn to shift uncomfortably. "Sorry, sir. I don't mean to pry, or bore you. I was just wondering if you'd ever spent any time there."

"Ellis, there's no need to apologize." Harry said reassuringly as the elevator made its way 'up' to the flight deck. "I was just a bit surprised, I didn't think anyone on board would know that much about my background, it's not really something I ever mention. Anyway, it sounds like you've got a lot of fond memories of the place, I'm surprised you haven't been back to visit."

"Well, relations with CEGA aren't all that great at the moment, as you know. I don't think they want JAF personnel snooping around Earth these days," Ellis returned with a smile Mandrake couldn't see. "I figured I could talk to you about it a little because of your mom. I've found that most Jovians don't want to hear about that sort of thing -- about how nice Earth is, or once was. I get tired of the rhetoric. We can't be blind to the threat CEGA poses, but the way some people -- like Noah and Kerin -- go on sometimes gets old." The private attempted to shrug her armored shoulders. "Hm," she offered. "I guess I'm trying to get all the talking I couldn't do for the past few hours in now."

"Hah! I was just thinking that," replied Harry with some amusement. "Don't worry, I understand what you're saying. CEGA isn't made up of bloodthirsty subhumans anymore than the Confederation is made up of paragons of virtue. I think a little understanding could go a long way. But speaking of the rest of the squad, how are you finding them and the Fierce? Your previous superiors gave you a very favorable report and I hope you'll do just as well here."

"I hope so too," Ellis replied brightly as the lift came to a halt. Heading for the main hangars, she continued, "I think it's a good group of marines we've got here, and the Fierce is a great ship. I have confidence in Captain Delacroix, and in Duran, you, and Tucker. You're new on the ship, too. How are you finding things so far?"

"It's a good ship alright," said Harry as they made their way onto the flight deck. "It's a good squad as well. It's just a damn shame this patrol has had such an inauspicious beginning. That poor bastard Fan..." Harry trails off. "Well, let's not dwell on that for the moment. It's as good a squad as I could wish for my first command."

Ellis agreed with a nod, her thoughts on the dead private in spite of Mandrake's informal command to not dwell on the incident. Across the hangar, the three other marines of Harry's squad signaled their presence. When Mandrake and Ellis joined them at the lift that would take them to their exo-suit prep and storage area, fairly casual salutes and greetings were exchanged.

As the group ascended to the launch deck, La Rue opened a squad channel and asked, "So are we going to hit that cruiser I hear is out there?" Her voice held an edge as she continued, "Cuz I wanna fuck some Venusians up for what they did to the Fierce, and to Private Fan."

"We're going to finish the job we came here to do." Harry said firmly. "Which is to rescue the thousand people on that sled. That suicide attack was a desperate attempt to divert our attention from our real goal, and we're not going to let that happen. There's other ships closing in that can deal with that cruiser. And La Rue, you might want to save your anger for those that deserve it - there's no confirmation that that was a Venusian ship."

La Rue moved over to her station after the elevator came to a halt, then turned around. "If it's not the Venusians, who the hell is it? I heard it was an Imperator-class cruiser. That doesn't sound like pirates to me."

"Could be one of the corporations," Ng offered. "Plenty of Venusian military hardware ends up in the hands of the corps. It may not be the HDF or the CVNA at all."

"That's still Venusians. Anyway, whoever it was, they need their asses blown off," La Rue fired back. "Sucks that we don't get to do it, but maybe there will be some heads to knock on the sled."

Brinks nodded. "Yeah, fucking right," he added with a clenched fist. Turning towards Mandrake, the big marine gestured to the atmosphereless space around him. "Sarge, are we goin' soft, or are we gonna stay on standby in the suits?"

Harry shook his head as he hooked up the diagnostic and recharging umbilicals to his suit. "Stay suited up, we're still on alert until we get past that cruiser, whoever it belongs to, and we're backup for the Falconers on search and rescue as well. Get some rest, we'll probably be on duty until about 2300. But before that, does anyone have anything else to report?"

Ng, Brinks and La Rue all responded in the negative as they hooked their Deckers into their recharge stations.

As the group settled in, Brinks opened a recreational channel and commented, "Phew, I've got some hum going in here. I'll be glad when we can crack open these cans and get some air. How are you holding up, Nicky? Better now that your radio is on?"

Ellis had just sat her Decker down and positioned it so she was nearly reclined. "I'm fine, Noah -- and so you know, my name is pronounced Nikey."

Brinks shuffled around for a moment, searching for the most comfortable position he could find. "I know that," he said. With a grin, he added, "And if you want to get picky, my name is actually pronounced Noahey."

"Oh, shut up," La Rue broke in. "You did not know, you boob. You barely know your ass from your face, Noah, though at least that's understandable."

"Hey!" Noah growled good-naturedly over the channel. "I've skinned people for less!"

"Bring it to the gym, you lummox," La Rue challenged, a smile on her face behind her faceplate. "I kicked your ass last time, and I won't think twice about doing it again."

"You didn't kick my ass!"

"She kicked your ass, Brinks," Ng commented lightly.

Brinks raised a gauntlet. "Only because I had food poisoning! I was on the crapper for like two hours right before that match -- it's Pluto who's to blame for me losing, that fat schmuck!"

"Whatever, man, whatever. Just let me know when you want a rematch." Turning towards her sergeant, who had been listening to his squad's banter with interest, La Rue added, "You any good in the ring, sir? We do quite a bit of sparring to keep on our toes."

"I can hold my own," Harry replied, wondering if he wasn't being set up for a pasting by La Rue. "It's been busy since I came on board, I haven't had as much time in the gym as I usually do. I guess I'll have to make sure we're there at the same time so I can see what you lot are capable of."

"Cool," La Rue replied. "Maybe we should set up some kind of squad vs. squad contest or something. Mitchel and Lockerby have just been begging for it lately." The big marine paused for a second, then added, "Say -- Sergeant Mandrake, do you think you could take Sergeant Tucker?"

Harry coughed. "It's not a subject I've given any thought to," he admitted. "Why, is she a good fighter? Not looking to get promoted into dead man's shoes are you Corporal?" he added jokingly.

La Rue laughed, but shook her head. "No," she replied.

"She's tougher than she looks," Brinks added, finally slumping into a position he found comfortable.

La Rue and Ng also kicked their machines over to standby mode, just as Sergeant Tucker and the rest of her squad appeared on the main lift up to the launch deck. Approaching, Tucker asked, "So are you keeping these guys in the saddle for a while?"

"Figured we'd stay on stand by at least until Duran gets back." replied Harry. "Besides, I don't want this lot running around and getting too energetic. They've just been trying to talk me into going a couple rounds with you as it is."

"A couple of rounds with me?" Tucker asked, looking over the rest of Harry's squad. "I don't know what they've been telling you, but I don't normally partake in the events where these boys and girls blow off some steam by beating the tar out of each other."

"Hmm," replied Harry, eyeing his squad with suspicion. "Let's just forget about that for the moment then."

"We were just thinking of challenging your squad to a few friendly matches," La Rue explained, ignoring Mandrake's comment. "Just to keep the hand-to-hand skills sharp."

"Anytime, La Rue," Private Lockerby returned quickly from behind Tucker. "You've been too big for those little britches of yours lately anyway -- you could use getting taken down a few pegs."

Tucker smiled to herself and intercepted La Rue's sure-to-be-caustic comeback. "Alright, everyone, can it. We'll talk about rec activities we can do together after the emergency is over."

"So, you want to take your squad off duty now and change over later or what?" Mandrake asked.

Tucker nodded. "Sure thing. We'll spell you later, in a few hours." Gesturing to her team, she added, "You heard him, people. Fall out and get those Deckers stowed. We'll be due back here at 1800 to relieve these guys."

Harry leaned backwards and started updating his squad's duty report while keeping one eye on the progress of the SAR mission for Corporal Durst.

Still fuming at being confined to her quarters, and at having found crates of foodstuffs stacked nearly to the ceiling in half of the room, Private Arianna Cyan's eyebrows came together in a first-class frown. She'd risked injury in getting to the bridge to see if her help was needed. She'd helped them get on course early! She'd -- she'd not checked her mail yet, that day, she noticed, seeing the small, blinking icon on her computer terminal, across the room.

Getting up off her bed with a grunt, the young helmsman sat down at her desk and opened her messages. Her frown deepened. It was a note from her parents. With some hesitation she ran the message.

"Arianna!" her two smiling parents said together before her mother continued. "How are you dear? We've been missing you terribly. Is life aboard a Jovian warship all you hoped it would be?"

"Arianna, we forgive you," her father said suddenly. "Come home, Ari. You know as well as we do that a military lifestyle isn't for you... we thought you were kidding when you threatened to join the JAF, and even when you did, I thought that you wouldn't go through with it. I was wrong -- I didn't see how stubborn you'd be." His face saddened. "I didn't realize the lengths you'd go to just to hurt us."

"Things have been good here, and your sister will be home next month, on the 15th," Arianna's mother broke in brightly, as though she hadn't heard what her husband had said. "She's playing with the symphony, and we'd love it if you'd come too. It can be a kind of reunion, dear -- we can put all this behind us. Anyway we have to run, Arianna. We just wanted to drop you a short note to let you know we were thinking about you. Let us know about your coming home."

"We love you," they finished in concert.

Swallow One had been recovered just before 1300, and Lieutenants Gunther and McGregor had enjoyed short reprieves before having to report to Senior Lieutenant Messier for their debriefing. The Lancer, for its part, was being refitted with a standard ATMP pod, while the Bigeye pod was already being repaired. The carrier under full battlestations was a thing to behold; it was a model of precision and efficiency.

Now an hour into their debriefing, the pair of lieutenants had described in good detail the events of their sortie. Messier had focused on the crisis at hand, and had wanted to shelve discussions of the Bigeye's performance for the time being.

"We're not even sure who we're dealing with," Messier stated. "The images we got from the Bigeye look like the cruiser was unmarked. Same thing with the footage we have of the Ryus. I'm not convinced it's the Venusian government behind this, despite all the Venusian hardware that's being fielded. The pilot of the Ryu carrying the nuke said something interesting when Valkurie tried to intercept him the first time. Listen."

Messier touched a button on the PDA in his hand, and a recording played on the channel McGregor and Gunther's spacesuits were tuned in to. The voice was distorted, but clear: "We will not be prevented from reaching our destiny. One will not be denied. One is the future of humanity. One will be our salvation."

Messier cocked an eyebrow behind the glass of his helmet. "Mean anything to either of you?"

Gunther shrugged. "I have no idea. Though, the fact that the Venusian ships are unmarked would likely mean that we aren't dealing with HDF forces." Gunther looked at McGregor for a moment. "It almost sounds like some kind of cult."

"Does it really?" McGregor asked with a measure of rhetorical acid. Her neck was still aching and she was very tired. Still, she was finally out of that hellish ATMP and able to stand -- even to stretch. "Excuse me, Gunther. That was rude. I agree with Gunther, Lieutenant Messier: it sounds like a cult. If I had to take a blind stab in the dark here, and I do, I'd guess one Devon Malachai, formerly of VenusBank, was behind this. We've been after him for years. So has SolaPol. And CEGA. And the Guild. And VenusBank. He's known to have a fatalistically loyal group of followers." She paced the room a few moments.

"I wonder..." she mumbled aloud. Snapping her gloved fingers somewhat awkwardly, she perked up. "I bet this is an extraction operation! I bet Malachai is or was on that sled and the Venus cruiser showed up to pick him up. Lieutenant Messier, I'd like to get a secure beam to HQ ASAP. I want a passenger manifest of that sled, preferably with photos, and I want the last-known information about Malachai and his followers. While we're at it, we need to get that Ryu telemetry uploaded quicker than possible. We're sitting on some extremely valuable intelligence, and if we should go down before HQ learns about it, it would be a shame."

Messier watched the Lieutenant with curiosity. "Interesting theory. HQ has already been over the manifest pretty carefully, and there was no sign of Malachai as far as I know. Still, we can alert them to the possibility. I tend to agree with your reasoning regarding the general identity of these people, however. Fanatical to the point of being suicidal, cryptic in their only radio contact with us, no demands of any kind being made... it all adds up to something more sinister than piracy. Intel has a whole team of experts back at Geiersburg working round the clock on this, and we've contacted SolaPol as well, to see if anything turns up in their files. Now that we've got something to work with, it shouldn't be long before we can make some educated guesses regarding who's behind all this. And as for the telemetry on the Ryus, good idea. Let's get it packaged up ASAP so we can send it back to HQ on a high-encryption line."

"One other thing, regarding the markings," McGregor added. "The most important thing to remember when dealing with Venusians is that what you see is what they want you to believe. They're almost certainly lying. Ask me about Venusian east and west some time when we're not trying to stay alive out here. Fascinating stuff, that. Anyway, if I'd seen HDF markings, I'd immediately conclude it wasn't HDF. That's how these people work. Their actual combat ships are generally disguised to look like civilian ships right up until the last moment. About the only time you'll see a genuine HDF fleet marking is when the ship is part of a dog-and-pony or when it's at home on near-orbit patrol. And even then, you can bet at least three other unassuming ships with it are the more powerful combatants. God, I hate dealing with these people."

Messier nodded. "This is quickly turning into a major incident; if it turns out that the Bank, the HDF or the CVNA is involved, heads are going to roll, no matter how sneaky the Venusians are."

"If?" Gunther questioned rhetorically. "With all due respect sir, my wingman got taken down. Given the chance, I plan on blowing a few Venusian scumbags back to their noxious planet."

"Monkey fuckers, Gunther," McGregor reminded. "Monkey fuckers. If you'll pardon the crude terminology, Lieutenant Messier."

"I still don't understand where you made that up," Gunther proclaimed in puzzlement. Looking at Messier, Gunther inquired, "Have you heard that expression before?"

"Basic -- and exceptionally sophomoric -- psyops," McGregor replied.

Messier merely raised an eyebrow, then commented, "I assure both of you that these hostile actions will not go unpunished. What I meant, however, was that if the Venusians are involved in an official capacity, heads will roll on a much larger stage. Political heads."

"Of course," McGregor replied.

"Ah," Gunther affirmed plainly, not wanting the meeting to go on any
further. "Now I understand your point sir."

"Then that should do it," Messier said with a nod at the two officers. "Good work out there. Get some rest -- you've both earned it, and you both might need it. Depending on what we find, there may be call to deploy the Bigeye again when we reach the sled."

"Thank you sir," Gunther returned. "I think I'll do just that."

"I, too," agreed McGregor. "After I get that report on the Ryus written up.

Messier nodded. "Dismissed."

Oh, lieutenant, er, I mean sir," Gunther stumbled with the words. "What is the status on the search and rescue effort for Corporal Durst? Any word?"

"Finch Flight and Duran's Falconers are en route to her beacon now. We'll let you know as soon as we hear something. Anything else?" Messier asked.

"No sir. Thank you sir," Gunther responded, hiding his true feeling on the matter. He realized that he should take some satisfaction that he had fulfilled his duty in getting McGregor and BIGEYE home is one piece, more or less. Still, he really wished he was actually out there assisting in recovering Dee Dee. He hoped she was holding out. "I really do appreciate that sir."

Looking at McGregor, Gunther inquired. "You hungry? You want to go get some food together?"

Three hours prior, Sergeant McLean, piloting Grackle Two, had made contact with Grackle One, Valkurie's stricken exo. There'd been no sign of movement, no sign of life, no sign of anything, but McLean had found himself hopeful about his flight leader as he hauled the inert Vindicator back to the Fierce. Now, with the big exo supported by a launch cradle and a set of hydraulics in place to crack open its cockpit, several members of the deck crew held their breath as the machine prepared to do its work.

Private Moore scrambled over the blistered and scorched exterior of Grackle One with considerable agility while Booger and Loogie operated the equipment. Dr. Gilmour, suited up in a specialized medical space suit, stood ready with a pair of assistants.

The exo shuddered for a moment, and then the cockpit revealed its secrets, opening slowly but steadily with a groan that was lost in the near vacuum of the hangar.

Light poured into the cockpit sphere. Light that seemed brighter than anything his flashlight could produce. Vice's eyes had adjusted after spending many hours in a pitch-black circular metal tomb. Painfully he raised one hand to shield his eyes. It was becoming more difficult to move. Over the last several hours, his body had slowly become wracked with pain. An excruciating and almost unbearable agony. More and more dull needles were being jammed into his nerves, and now with an even greater ferocity. Vice could barely move without clenching his teeth in response to the hurting sensation. He grunted in response to another barrage of needles and slowly clicked off the safety on his sidearm. The pilot had heard the noise caused during the recovery of his exo but he wasn't sure who had picked him up. He could be in enemy hands right now. His weapon held close to his side, Vice tried to focus through the brightness.

A helmet peered over the edge of the now open cockpit, its faceshield dark against the background light, followed by another. One of the helmets, attached to a rather curvaceous form, descended into the cockpit. Vice remained still, his pistol hidden. He might be able to raise and fire at the one moving into the cockpit, but he was not going to be fast enough to fire at the other one in the hatchway, what with the invisible needles in his joints. As the helmet got closer, the light shifted and Vice was able to see the face of the person behind the clear faceshield.

The face belonged to Babette Moore.

Vice breathed a sigh of relief. Unless the Venusians had taken her crew captive, he was back onboard the Fierce. Smiling, he slowly holstered the pistol, trying hard not to let the pain from the movement show. Private Moore started to say something but Vice tapped on his helmet radio. The blast had disabled it he was now sure. She gestured to outside the cockpit and Vice nodded in return. It was time that this corpse leave its tomb.

Vice moved slowly as he clambered up and out of the cockpit. Nerves flared to life, overloaded with pain sensation information, as he moved. He was determined to not let it show and a new war started to rage within him as he fought against the pain. It became even more intense as he noticed the sizable group around his exo. It would simply not do to show any weakness in front of them. He had to maintain the illusion of the invincible Exo-Pilot.

A woman in a spacesuit marked with several red crosses gestured at Valkurie and said something to the two men flanking her. They unfolded a stretcher and placed it on the metal decking of the lift that had brought the rescue crew to the cockpit of the exo. Vice waved them off for a moment.

As he stood at the mouth of the cockpit, he was now able to see the extent of the damage to his exo. It was almost unrecognizable as a Retaliator. It was almost as though someone had put the exo in a gigantic microwave and tried to cook it. The hull was darkened in most areas and the metal warped. The head was a grotesque death mask. The arms were a twisted mass of melted armor plate and exposed wiring. The shoulder missile mounts had detonated their remaining payload, so it was probably good that Vice had fired off a good portion of the missiles before the explosion. In all, the Exo looked like he felt.

He reached back into the cockpit and extended a hand to Private Moore, to assist her in getting out of the exo, teeth gritted in pain that he fought hard not to show. Keep up the illusion, he told himself as he struggled to smile.

Though Moore weighed only six-tenths of her normal bodyweight at the Fierce's current acceleration, Valkurie's arm and shoulder positively burned as he helped the shapely mechanic up. He was surprised when she put her hands on his waist to steady him. Gently touching his helmet with her own, she said, "Vice... your face -- you've been burned, and you need medical attention. You need to lie down."

"It's only a flesh wound," Vice said, trying to add a smile. His face hurt, lots, but he just couldn't resist the opening. "I'll be fine," he added, hoping that it sounded reassuring. "I've been through worse." It was a lie of course. Not many people in the solar system could say that they had been through something worse than near-ground zero of a nuclear explosion.

Moore started to move Vice towards the waiting medical team but he gently resisted. "I will walk... to sickbay," he said, not trying to mask the seriousness of his statement. "Please understand. This is... something that I have to do." That said, he stepped out onto the gantry attached to the cockpit of the Retaliator and stood gripping the rail tightly as the platform lowered to the hangar floor. He closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping his face as passive as he could. Vice had not moved around a lot in the cockpit sphere once he figured out that there was nothing that he could do. As a result, he was only now beginning to realize how painful it was to move.

The medical team tried to lay the pilot onto their stretcher, but Vice fought against their helping hands. One stern look told them that he was going to walk. Pausing to gather his strength once he stood upright once more, Vice took a look around at the gathered deckhands. He could see from the concerned looks that his attempts to mask his injuries were not as successful as he had hoped.

Dr. Gilmour appeared at the injured man's side, an angry look on her attractive face. She appeared to be scolding Valkurie for his behavior, and the pilot was glad for the moment that his suit's communications were down.

When you're in the spotlight, you have to be memorable, or risk the audience forgetting about you. Vice had overheard the trideo director giving advice to the movie's leading man. They were just finishing up talking about the final battle scene. Give them something to talk about at the water cooler the next day.

Vice had the spotlight now, or what passed for it. He was going to give them something to talk about. A raw defiance. A silent cry that he had not been defeated, that the worst the Venusians had done was to boil the outside of his Retaliator. The pilot yet lived. He spotted Fenris moving towards him from the entrance to the flight deck. Vice stood up as straight as he could and gave a thumbs up to his wingman, who smiled broadly and returned the gesture. Several deck hands cheered and clapped, celebrating Valkurie's successful defense of the ship, and now his defiance.

"Vice," Private Moore said, touching her helmet to his again, "Dr. Gilmour says you have to get on the stretcher, and that she can't be responsible for you hurting yourself worse by not complying with her orders. Please do it, Vice..."

Vice looked up at Babette. For a moment his face could not mask the pain running amok through his body, but managed to crack what he thought was a smile. "Babette. I... will... walk to... Medbay... I can't... let them... see me... on that... stretcher."

Babette sighed sadly, then leaned back and radioed Valkurie's response to the doctor, who threw up her arms in exasperation.

"Fine," Gilmour radioed to all present. "The man wants to be a hero? He can be a hero."

Valkurie, of course, was just that. He had, after all, just saved the ship. Slowly, the group set off for the medical bay.

"Grouse, this is Finch One. I've got Durst's capsule on my scopes, and am preparing to do a fly-by to see how it looks. Copy?"

"Copy, Finch One," Private Collins returned, seated at the controls of the shuttle carrying Jon Duran's entire squad of Falconers. "We'll hold our position until you've cleared the area."

Lieutenant Gilding gracefully arced her Pathfinder towards the ejected Lancer cockpit and noted with approval that her wingman, Corporal Mortimer Cosby, was right with her.

"Kind of weird how that cruiser just disappeared," Cosby commented. "It must have some serious stealth capabilities if you're not seeing it with the rig on your Recon."

Gilding's eyes ran over a dozen readouts, scopes and displays. "Mm," she answered curtly, focusing on the task at hand. Pieces of Durst's Lancer had long since been strewn all over space, but a few large chunks were showing up on her sensors. "We need to be careful," she added after a moment, her eyes now fixed on one object that struck her as a little unusual. "If that cruiser was stealthed, there's no reason to assume the exos aren't as well."

Cosby glanced at his scanners. "I'm not seeing anything at all other than Dee Dee's beacon and some junk from her Lancer. "You think these guys are so well cloaked that we wouldn't see them from this range?"

"I'll tell you in a moment," Gilding answered, leveling her Pathfinder out as she took aim with her particle cannon. The muzzle flashed once, sending a bright bolt of charged particles streaking across the stars. It struck its target directly, and lightning played across the dark shape for a few seconds before the thing moved. Stretching its limbs, a Ryu lit its thrusters and blasted laterally across Gilding's vision. "We've got a bogey," she said calmly. "Looks like he's going to make a run at the shuttle."

"I've got an intercept," Cosby said firmly.

"Take it," Gilding commanded, firing her own thrusters and taking up pursuit of the speeding enemy exo. "Grouse, we've got a live one in here, and he's moving for you. Back off until we can deal with him."

"Roger that," Private Collins answered, spinning the shuttle with lateral thrusters before going to full power.

"Jesus, this thing is fast!" Cosby exclaimed, seeing the Ryu slip out in front of his planned intercept.

Gilding put Finch One at full afterburner as well and frowned at what she saw on her scopes. "It's a trap," she declared evenly. "I've just picked up the cruiser, and it coming in fast." Pausing for a moment to get onto a vector that her intuition told her would get her closer to the Ryu if it moved as she suspected it would, she added, "I give us six minutes before it's in weapons range. Grouse, come around. You'll have to deploy the SAR team hot if we're going to get Dee Dee's capsule out of here."

Duran's voice sounded on the line as Cosby took a shot at the Ryu with his particle cannon and missed. "Finch One, this is Officer Duran -- we're ready to go. You just keep that Ryu busy."

"You got it," Gilding replied, coming back into weapons range as the Ryu suddenly darted downward, away from Finch Two. As she closed the distance, she saw on one of her screens that Collins had turned the shuttle around and was making good speed towards Durst's beacon.

"Two, go wide around and watch for him coming back up. Stay close to the Grouse while I give him something to think about."

"Got it," Cosby responded, fighting to get a missile lock on the lightning-quick Ryu.

As Gilding pursued her target through its dive, she took careful aim and watched as the machine rolled over so it could fire its rapid-fire massdriver rifle at her while flying backwards. She pulled the trigger just as the Ryu's own weapon blazed furiously, and for several long seconds the two exos exchanged a withering barrage of fire. Gilding landed two hits before a half-dozen super-dense slugs drilled into her exo. The machine shook as it was penetrated multiple times, and alarms sounded as her thrust control system got knocked offline just as one of the slugs pierced the cockpit. Gilding saw a shower of sparks, a spray of blood, and then was out of control.

Seeing the Ryu break off contact with his flight leader, Cosby radioed the woman urgently. "Finch One, are you alright? Finch One, are you hit?!"

Cosby's only answer was watching the Ryu, some of its armor scorched and blown off, swing around and come at him at full thrust. Electrical arcs played over its surface, but the machine appeared to still be in fighting trim.

"Finch Two, I almost have the Grouse in position," Private Collins belted into the comm. "Zebra squad will be spaceborne in thirty seconds.

Cosby tried to relax for a moment in his linear frame. He needed to present an enticing enough target to draw off the Ryu without making himself so enticing as to get himself killed. "Roger, Grouse and Zebra, grab that pod as fast as you can, because it looks like that cruiser is coming on full steam."

Collins touched the controls that opened the shuttle's wide rear access doors. "Thirty five seconds to target," she said as the marines prepped for their drop.

Duran did a last-second check on his troops. Satisfied, he belted out, "Let's hit this clean and quick, people. Collins will be on evasive while we make the grab. When we've got it secured, we call her back and get the hell out of here. Stay with the plan -- Hellenburg and I take top cover, Felix and Chretien low. Kwame, you're on retrieval. All good?"

"All good, sir!" the whole squad responded with fervor, the blood racing in their veins.

"Ten seconds!"

Cosby grimaced as a stream of tracers chased after his exo, far too close for comfort. Maneuvering desperately for a shot on the more mobile Ryu, he opened a channel to the Fierce.

"Control, this is Finch Two -- I think Finch One is down, but that's not confirmed. Zebra squad is about to attempt the pickup despite the zone being hot. We've got one live Ryu and a cruiser inbound, over."

"Finch Flight, this is control -- we've got you on our screens and can confirm that inbound cruiser. Finch One looks to be tumbling." After a second's pause, the controller added, "Be advised, the Hadrian should be arriving shortly."

Risking a glance at his long-range scope as he continued to jockey for position, Cosby smiled when he saw the approaching JAF destroyer. "Well tell them not to spare the remass -- we're in a pickle out here."

After Zebra squad dropped two-at-a-time out the back of the Grouse and fired their thrusters to move towards Durst's transponder, Collins pulled up, moving the shuttle away from the battle in a serious of evasive jinks.

Lieutenant Gilding's breath was ragged as she finally managed to right her exo and get her control systems back up. The bubbles of blood that were floating in the woman's cockpit suddenly splashed down onto her legs and feet as she fired the Pathfinder's thrusters and headed back for the fight. "This is Finch One," she said through gritted teeth. "I've been hit and am injured, but I'm going to make it. The cockpit's been breeched and I've got a hole in my flight suit, but it self-sealed. I'll be there to help in a minute, Mort."

Cosby's exo jolted from the impact of a couple of massdriver slugs, bits of gleaming white armor being blown to pieces by the Ryu's powerful weapon. "Good to hear, Cool -- I don't know how long I can hold this guy off!"

"Hang tight," Gilding assured the man. "Duran, status?"

The Falconer-suited marines of Zebra squad had moved into position and were about to make contact with Durst's escape pod. "Clear over here, since your wingman took the Ryu with him when he peeled outta here. We should have the capsule in under a minute."

Closing with the pair of dancing exos, Gilding coughed and spat blood all over the inside of her helmet. She didn't know how serious her chest wound was, but she'd lost a lot of blood despite the coagulating agent she'd been injected with once her life support system recognized that she was bleeding. "Lead him back my way, Mort, and I'll see if I can surprise him and at least shake him off your tail."

Loosing an ineffectual blast behind him with his particle cannon, Cosby nodded in his cockpit. "You got it -- coming at you."

As the three exos converged, Collins anticipated Duran's call for her and began pulling the shuttle around onto a vector that would take her back into the thick of things. "Grouse inbound," she called across the open channel.

Duran's voice was harsh when he replied. "Collins, what the hell are you doing? We don't have the pod yet!"

Cosby swore as the Ryu suddenly pulled away from him and rocketed back towards the inbound shuttle. A smattering of light arms fire came from the marines, but the Ryu raced on, undeterred.

"Cool, you got this?" Cosby said as he fought his way through a tight turn.

"Yes," Gilding answered, firing several times at long-range with her cannon. As the Ryu neared the Grouse, it powered up a plasma lance and moved to strike with it just as a bolt of charged particles slammed into the exo and outright fried half of its electrical systems.

Collins watched with an open mouth as the sparking, disabled Ryu soared past her view screen at high speed, plasma lance in hand. Right after it came a pair of missiles, homing in on their target.

"Got him," Cosby declared with relief as the Ryu exploded in a spectacular fireball.

"Good shooting, you two," Duran said, congratulating the pilots. "We've secured Swallow Two's cockpit. Good news everyone -- Dee Dee's alive."

Cheers all round on the radio were halted when flight control broke in. "Finch Flight and Grouse, the Hadrian has intercepted and is engaging that Imperator-class cruiser. What's the status on the SAR?"

Duran smiled as Collins slowed the shuttle down for the marines and their precious cargo to come aboard. "Mission accomplished," he said firmly. "We're coming home."

A few thousand kilometers away, powerful weapons flashed as the two capital ships exchanged fire. The Hadrian, an Alexander-class destroyer, was more than a match for an Imperator, however, and the intense battle didn't last long. After disabling the cruiser's laser array, the destroyer closed in, its kinetic kill cannons thumping and triple-barreled particle accelerator striking with pinpoint precision. When the Venusian cruiser launched a desperate barrage of missiles at close range, the Hadrian's twin point-defense lasers did their work efficiently and impressively, turning each warhead into a fiery blossom long before it impacted its intended target. By the time Finch Flight and the Grouse were halfway home, the Hadrian's marines had boarded and
captured the ship.

Vice crashed against the bulkhead wall, his breathing hard. Fifteen meters ahead of him was the door to sickbay. His strength was leaving him fast, but he was determined to make it to the Medical bay under his own steam. He was now beginning to regret his stubbornness. He should just accept Dr. Gilmour's assistance, she had certainly been persistent enough, and take comfort in the stretcher, riding the rest of the way into the medical bay. He had made enough of a show.

No, something inside of him yelled out. Not yet he hadn't. A few more meters. He had made it this far and could go just a few more meters. Just a few more meters.

He did not need his flight suit radio or even a glance back to know
that Dr. Gilmour was probably throwing another fit. He couldn't blame her. She was responsible for the health of the crew. Unfortunately it was now a matter of what was stronger, Vice's stubbornness or the terrible radiation burns on his skin. Dr. Gilmour could have whatever was left.

Half leaning on the wall, and well aware of the medics and stretcher behind him, Vice pressed on. It was a great conscious effort to move one foot in front of the other, something akin to moving mountains. His body, tired of the heroic effort, nearly gave up on him as he half-collapsed to the wall again.

Just a little farther. Almost there, he told the protesting needles and barbed wires, and then I am all yours. He coughed again, only this time something wet and salty came up. Gathering up the last of his strength, Vice pressed on to the last few remaining meters. His vision started to blur and tears began to well up in his eyes. The pain was unbearable.

As he leaned against the bulkhead door into Medical, he could no longer
hold off the enticing arguments of the needles pounding his muscles.

He lost consciousness and collapsed just inside the doorway.

End Week 6 Summary (July 15-21, 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.