Week 7 Summary (July 22-28, 2002)

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Gunther was trying to rest when he received the wakeup call he requested from the ship's computer a few hours earlier. The message on his datapad stated that the shuttle was on final approach. Pulling himself out of his bunk, he changed back into his flight uniform and started out of his quarters for the shuttle bay. His nose was only a bit tender now, not nearly as bad as it had been when he had gone to bed earlier. During the patrol mission, he had almost near forgotten about it, particularly during the firefight. However, now its slight throb lingered in his senses. Plus the synthetic skin bandage was starting to really itch.

Having entered the service shaft outside the main habitat module, Gunther passed by damage control teams still performing repairs on the ship systems. He eventually reached the elevator that would take him up the spine of the ship to the shuttle bay. Waiting for the lift to arrive, Gunther pondered on Dee Dee's condition. The report on the SAR had said that Dee Dee was alive, her escape pod intact, but not much else. He had felt bad leaving her out there. He hadn't realized how the responsibility would impact him. He'd lost fellow wingman before, but not under his command. This was, after all, his first command of a Lancer Flight. He felt a strange sense of loneliness. He stroked his chin, looking rather contemplative and somber. That was when the lift door opened.

Two women were waiting to get off the lift, and a lump formed in Gunther's throat when he recognized both of them. On the left, Corporal Isabel Wickter raised a perfect eyebrow at seeing the pilot. She looked stunning, just as she had before, but it was the woman on the right that grabbed the man's attention, for all the wrong reasons.

Corporal Katlyn Tesla. Tesla and Gunther had recently gotten over a steamy, volatile, and altogether unsuccessful relationship that had ended with heated words and harsh feelings.

Tesla, an engineer, shot Gunther a frosty glare. "Hello, Lieutenant," she said coldly.

Wickter looked from Gunther to Tesla and back again, noting the tension between them. "Yes, hello, Lieutenant Gunther," she said more pleasantly. "Good job out there today. I presume you've heard the good news about Durst? She'll be aboard shortly."

Moving his gaze off Tesla, Gunther worked to hide his discomfort behind a pleasant smile as he answered Corporal Wickter. "Yes, she seems well from what I hear. It's never easy to have your wingman goes down in a dogfight. Worse if you have to leave them behind in a hot zone." Gunther wanted to ease this tension as quickly as possible; it was making his nose hurt all the more. "I was just heading up to the hangar to welcome her back aboard," he continued, now beginning to feel a bit more confident as he focused on Wickter's beautiful green eyes. He tried briefly to forget that Tesla was standing right in front of him. His smile relaxed as he laid a little eye-to-eye charm on Wickter, hoping it would help lessen the tension and lay a little groundwork. "Oh, and thanks for the compliment, Corporal. Coming from you, I know that means a lot. It really does." He glanced back at Tesla, attempting to gauge her expression. "Hello yourself Corporal Tesla. It's good to see you."

"I'm sure it is, now that Candy's off the ship," Tesla said acidly. Pushing past the man, she made her way down the hallway. "Forget it Everett, it's over. Come on Isabel. Don't get too close to him -- he's all hands."

"I wasn't, uh," Gunther stumbled over the words.

Wickter stepped out of the elevator with the tiniest of smiles on her face. "I see you're a popular man with the ladies. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised..." she said in her pleasingly scratchy voice.

"Well, apparently not so much right now," Gunther joked, trying to lighten Tesla's blow. He looked into Corporal Wickter gorgeous face. "I'm never good at first impressions," he continued, making sure to keep eye contact. "Or last impressions sometimes as well," he shrugged. Gunther smiled shyly, putting on as innocent of a face as he could muster.

Noting the amount of eye contact Gunther was making, Wickter paused and her smile widened slightly. "Are you flirting with me, Lieutenant?" she asked with directness and some amount of amusement.

Tesla returned, grabbed the other woman by the arm and dragged her off. "Duh! Gunther will flirt with anyone that smiles at him, Isabel, and also with lots of people who don't. Come on."

Wickter shrugged as she was dragged away. "Wish Durst well for me when you see her," she managed before being pulled down the hall.

A klaxon sounded noting the Grouse's arrival before Gunther, still a little befuddled from the exchange, could manage a response. The shuttle bay was still in vacuum, and after riding up the spine of the ship, Gunther exited the lift to find Dr. Zelios and a pair of assistants standing at the sealed entrance to the bay.

Zelios nodded at the pilot. "Lieutenant. How's the nose?"

"Better," Gunther replied. "It's still a little sore. It's worst immediately after a get up after laying down, then the pain fades to a dull soreness that comes and goes." He reached up to gentle stroke the bridge of his nose. "Though this synthetic skin bandage is itching like crazy."

"You're still using that spray? That should take care of most of the pain and swelling in a couple of days."

"Yeah, yeah," Gunther affirmed. "The spray does help." Gunther shrugged. "I'm fine. I just had my nose broke roughly 24 hours ago. I'd expect it to be a little tender."

A few minutes later, the shuttle had docked and the bay had been re-pressurized. When the alarm ceased and the green light came on, Gunther entered the bay just behind the medical team, anxious to see Durst.

The Grouse had settled to the deck, and a number of technicians were already crawling over it as the big rear doors whirred open and Duran's marines came clanking out, carrying with them the ejected cockpit of a Lancer. Placing it on the bay floor in an area where the medical team would have ample room to work, the Falconers backed off and let Zelios move in. A few seconds later, the seals on the escape pod hissed and the top panel loosened with an audible pop.

As Zelios' two helpers lifted the panel away, Durst's head suddenly bobbed into view. Swatting at the doctor as he tried to sit her back down in the cockpit, she removed her helmet and shook her sweat-soaked red hair out of the pair of pigtails it'd been in. "Man!" she exclaimed, working some stiffness out of her arms and neck. "Remind me to never get shot down again!"

Gunther grinned from ear to ear. "Dee Dee," he exclaimed. "You're alright!"

Durst climbed out of the cockpit with the help of one of Zelios' assistants. "Yeah, I'm okay," she grinned herself. "No thanks to my piloting skills! My first real dogfight, and I get blown out of the sky in like two minutes!" Continuing to stretch, she added, "And it's really good to see you, Mockingbird. I couldn't tell if you guys made it out or not. Did you nail the bastard who got me?"

Zelios interrupted. "That's quite enough, Corporal. Get on the stretcher -- you need to checked out in the sick bay."

"Okay, okay," Durst submitted. As she laid down, she looked up at Gunther. "So did you get him?" she asked again.

Gunther's face dulled a bit. He scowled, remembering the bitter taste of near defeat from that Ryu's missile. "Unfortunately, no. Last I saw, he escaped back toward the cruiser. After I took out the Ryu on my tail and we set out to locate you, your attacker ambushed us. McGregor and I barely made it out alive."

"Aw, shit," Durst said as she was lifted from the ground. Saluting her flight leader, she added, "I'll be back in the saddle soon enough, sir -- I want another crack at that bastard."

"You and me both," Gunther smiled back. Looking up at Doctor Zelios, Gunther inquired, "You don't have a problem if I tag along do you?" Looking back down at Durst. "That is unless you don't want me to."

Zelios scowled. "Just don't get in the way," he warned, taking Durst's vitals with a mediscanner. As the medical team set off, the doctor's face soured further. "And you better not be tagging along just to see Dr. Gilmour."

"Yeah!" Dee Dee exclaimed. "This better be all about being worried about me -- no ulterior motives allowed!"

Gunther felt stunned by Durst again. This was the second time that Dee Dee had surprised him by her comments. He looked at her face, but caught no hint of sarcasm. He tried to deflect the character assault he was feeling. "Ulterior motives? Give a guy a break!" he exclaimed, looking at both Durst and Zelios. "Can't a guy be genuinely concerned about his wingman, a friend, and not have his motives questioned because there happens to be a woman intertwined somewhere along the way?"

Gunther's bristling made Durst snicker. "Easy, boss, I'm just joshing you. I know you're coming along because you're concerned. Can't I kid you when I'm lying on a stretcher?"

Realizing he had misread Durst's face, Gunther let out a deep chuckle, looking at Dee with affection. "Yes, Corporal," he replied. "I guess you can. Heaven knows you earned it."

"Pffft!" Durst shot back. "Earned it by having my butt blown out of space the first chance I got?!" As the group waited for the spinal lift and then moved onto it, Durst's face turned serious. "You know, Gunther, it wasn't much like I pictured it would be. I've flown tons of sims, and been on lots of live maneuvers -- but it's so much faster when you're out there and someone is actually trying to kill you." Her delicate brow came forward. "I don't think I made a very good showing for myself. I can be better than that."

Gunther knelt down close to her and looked her square in the eye. "You did good Dee," he consoled, looking at Dee Dee like a brother to a younger sister. "You've got the natural ability to be a good ace pilot with enough flight time logged under your wings." Gunther then took on a more serious expression. "Also, for the record, those weren't sim-spec Ryus. They were faster and more maneuverable. Heck, I barely got out alive myself." He gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "There's a lot I want to teach you. Once you get released for duty and things calm down, we'll start on a special training curriculum to improve your combat repertoire and teach you more advanced G-handling skills."

"Sounds good to me," the girl said with spunk. Baring her teeth, she kidded, "Lemmie at 'em!"

"Heh, that's my girl," the man chuckled. Gunther then moved in a bit closer, his face taking on a slightly sinister look. "By the way," he winked, "I've got a surprise for us to unleash on Fenris for his inappropriate comments in the mess yesterday." He patted her lightly on shoulder. "When you're out, we can lay out a plan to get him back good."

"Fenris?" Durst asked, sitting up on one elbow. "Yeah, that snot-head needs his wagon fixed but good, so I'm definitely in for whatever you have planned."

"My sick bay is full!" Zelios growled. "You pull anything that sends someone for stitches and I'll have your hide, and your wings."

Looking up at Zelios, Gunther admitted, frowning, "You really weren't supposed to hear that." Shaking his head, he tried to allay the doctor's fears, gesturing appropriately with his hands. "But don't worry. Nobody's going to get hurt, just a clean, safe practical joke." He smiled a devilish smile back at Durst. "A little eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, if you catch my drift.

Zelios' brow furrowed. "Just remember what I said. I won't continue to stand for foolishness that lands crewmembers in the medical bay."

Dee Dee blanched. "Uh, how's the nose, by the way, Everett? It'll probably be okay if you stay away from La Rue..."

Ah, it's doing fine. The good doctor here fixed me right up." Gunther touched the bandage lightly. "Still a bit tender though. Heh, I don't plan on seeing La Rue if I can help it." He shrugged cheerfully. "This is actually a smaller ship than it seems."

Arianna Cyan was especially subdued since the start of her shift, probably in response to her being confined to quarters following the Fierce's battle with the Venusians. Having had the wind taken from her sails, she sat quietly, maintaining the ship's course, and keeping to herself. She didn't want another reminder of her duties coming from the first officer.

Beside the young woman, at the Fierce's navigation station, Corporal Orr snuck a sidelong glance and whispered, "You're quiet this morning, Cyan. Why the long face?"

"I'm just concentrating on my duties, Corporal," Arianna answered stiffly. "With all of the emergency maneuvers, how does our course look? Are we on target?"

Orr checked over his console and nodded. "Yes, we're on course, and making pretty good time for still having an engine out. The sled is still accelerating slowly, but we're gaining in a big way. We're still a ways off from our decel burn, but it won't be long now."

Radio chatter sounded in the background as various stations reported in to the bridge, keeping Senior Lieutenant Messier and the rest of the bridge crew up-to-date on the ongoing repairs.

"Can you believe we almost got hit by a nuke?!" Orr asked quietly. "We would have all been killed!"

Not having had anyone to speak with since being confined to her quarters, Arianna took a rare chance in confiding in the navigator. Flashing a quick glance at Messier to make sure he was distracted, Arianna leaned over and said quietly, "I didn't know how badly we had been damaged, so after the blast, I made my way up here to see if anyone had been hurt or if a pilot was needed. The Captain wasn't too happy about it."

Flashing another glance back to Messier, Arianna sunk back into her station, continuing to work.

"I don't know how much trouble I'm in," she whispered. "Once we get back to dock, I might be kicked off the ship."

"Kicked off the ship?!" Orr hissed. "But I heard that you were the one who knew we could safety re-fire the engines!" Orr pretended to check his console for a few moments, then whispered, "I can't see them kicking you off the ship. But it was pretty stupid. You know that you're not allowed to just wander here and there when the ship is under battlestations."

"It wasn't stupid," Arianna insisted, still whispering. "We had no idea if the ship was drifting or not. We had no idea if the bridge crew were alive... the only way to be sure was to the check."

She paused for a moment, again, looking over her shoulder to check that Messier wasn't looking, then added, "Regardless, the Captain seemed pretty abrupt with me. Have you served with her before? How can I tell if she's really angry with me?"

Orr shrugged. "She's hard to read sometimes. I've been on the Fierce since its launch last year, and I still have a hard time telling when she's truly cheesed off." Gesturing with his eyes, he lowered his voice further and added, "Messier's a bit easier to read. If he doesn't like you, you'll know it."

"Corporal Orr," Messier said suddenly from the captain's chair, "What are you and Private Cyan discussing so secretively? Don't make me quote chapter and verse of the regulations to remind you of proper bridge conduct."

"N-nothing, sir!" Orr answered quickly. "Cyan was just asking if the captain was really mad at her!" The young navigator looked about ready to wet his pants.

"Is that true, Private?" Messier asked Cyan with a steady eye.

"Yes, sir, it's true," Cyan responded. On the outside, Cyan matched Messier's stern expression, perhaps even looked as though she was being bravely defiant of it, but inside, she was already wincing in anticipation. "I was curious about some of the finer points of bridge operations here on the Fierce, sir."

Messier raised an eyebrow. "Beyond what was covered in your training, you mean," he asked pointedly. Without allowing the young helmsman to respond, he added, "If Captain Delacroix was truly angry with you, you wouldn't have simply been confined to your quarters. Nor would you be on the bridge right now. She has other things on her mind, frankly. I believe she was just trying to illustrate to you that your actions have consequences, private. Whether you're lying a heavy hand on the control stick or breaking priority alert protocols, you need to be more aware of your fellow shipmates. Had you been injured in your journey from the habitat to the bridge, it would have required valuable resources to address the situation. And we might have lost a helmsman."

"Yes, sir," Private Cyan replied, a little surprised by how gently Messier had responded to her. "Sorry, sir. I had just thought that maybe the bridge might have been hit and needed an extra hand. I'll try to be more careful about protocols next time, sir."

Messier nodded, checking the time. "We know you were simply trying to help, Cyan, but next time follow the regs and not your instincts -- good though unhoned as they are. The bridge is very heavily armored. If it gets knocked out, the ship will be in trouble indeed." Standing, he added, "I have a meeting to attend. Steady as she goes, private. Officer Lindy, the conn is yours."

Private Cyan nodded dutifully at Messier's orders and turned back to her station, making sure that their course was, as the ship's Executive Officer ordered, steady as she went. Satisfied that all was as it should be, she flashed a wicked grin at Corporal Orr, then continued monitoring the ship's course.

Periodically, when given time, Private Cyan also ran several simulations through the flight computer, trying to find the best evasive maneuvers the ship could manage with one its engines out. She wasn't planning on getting caught unprepared, not during her shift!

"Resistance was light," Duran explained. "No exo-suits, no drones or remotes, not even any heavy personal weapons. Turns out the ship was manned by a skeleton crew, half-Venusian, half you-name-it. According to the IDs that have been made so far, we've got people from Mercury, Venus, Earth, the Moon, Mars and Jupiter all together on the same ship. One or two nomads and orbitals, too. Quite the motley crew."

"Casualties?" Tucker asked from the back row.

"None for the Hadrian's marines. Eight dead and five wounded on the cruiser, counting people hit during the battle and also during the boarding action. It was textbook."

"The Hadrian did take some causalities in the battle," Delacroix commented matter-of-factly.

Harry sat near the back of the briefing room, taking notes on his datapad and sketching Delacroix at the same time. "Any evidence that they might have unloaded any heavy ordinance they had onto the sled?" he asked.

McGregor nodded in appreciation of the man's question. Things had certainly grown interesting. Before turning in for some rest, she had sent off the report on the Ryu performance profile, sneaking in several requests to JAFI for all the information the agency could gather -- she had even called in a few favors to get information out of SolaPol. She was expecting a reply at any minute.

Delacroix fielded Mandrake's question. "We're wondering the same thing, Sergeant. If they have, your job just got a hell of a lot more difficult. Chances are very good that a lot of the hardware from that cruiser was transported to the sled. The investigation is only hours old, but already we're seeing signs that the cruiser -- she's a civilian ship, from the looks of her, though that means very little if the Venusians have anything at all to do with this -- had a considerably larger crew compliment than the Hadrian took into custody."

"Hmm...," McGregor mused. "I have my doubts about my earlier hypothesis, Lieutenant Messier," she offered. "Sounds more like refugees almost, not fanatical followers of incompetent businessmen. Has a team been over that thing -- the Venusian ship -- with a fine-tooth comb yet? I'm thinking in particular of a team trained in sniffing out Edicts violations." She made a mental note to pass along this new angle to her contacts back home.

"The Hadrian's security personnel are conducting a thorough investigation," Messier responded. "We should know more shortly -- including at least the name of the ship and its home port. The captives have been non-cooperative thus far in helping shed light on the situation, but we're hoping that'll change.

"I'd like to check out the ship's databanks, if it's possible," McGregor said. "I don't think I'll be any help with the sled, and thanks to the sorry state of my project here, I don't have much else to do."

Messier hesitated. "You mean check out the databanks on that cruiser?"

"Yes, if it's possible," McGregor replied.

"We can't spare the shuttle to get you over there, Lieutenant," Messier said frankly. "Though I'm sure we can arrange some kind of remote access for you."

Damn, she thought. "It's easier for me if I've got their keyboards and access pads in front of me, but this will have to do," she said aloud. "Can I have access to the libraries aboard the Fierce, too, while I'm over here?"

"By all means," Messier nodded. "The more heads we have together on this, the better."

"Mm," she agreed.

"We also might want to deploy the Bigeye again," the captain commented. "Before sending our marines onto that sled, I'd like to have some idea of the kinds of opposition they might face. Something very strange is going on, and the more we know about it before we make our move, the better. Another curiosity is that all of the crew of that cruiser -- all fourteen of them -- were male."

Catching Delacroix's eye, Duran got her silent approval to break in and added, "And they fought fanatically. They didn't have much for weapons, so they didn't pose much of a threat, but most of them fought to the bitter end -- that's why their casualties were so high."

"Great," McGregor replied. "How many of the passengers aboard the sled are female?"

Messier looked at his datapad and touched the screen a few times. "Four hundred twenty-two," he responded. "You have a theory, lieutenant?"

"Oh, I wouldn't grace it with such a term as 'theory' yet, Sir," she replied. "Even 'hypothesis' is too dignified. I just have visions of rampaging cult fanatics stealing women to populate their new world."

Delacroix's expression darkened. "I suppose anything's possible," she said with some amount of trepidation.

McGregor's datapad blinked, and, checking the display, she saw that it was an incoming message from JAFI HQ on a secure line. Her brow creased slightly when she realized it was from General Collinsworth himself. At this distance, the lag was only a handful of seconds in either direction, so the conversation could be in real-time. "McGregor," the General said into the woman's barely-noticeable earpiece, "General Collinsworth here. We've finally got some information that could be of use to you."

McGregor nodded to herself. "Roger, General," she spoke into her PDA's pickup mic. "Is it clear for all attending this briefing?" She sent a list of all personnel present.

Several seconds passed, then Collinsworth nodded on her screen. "Yes. It's nothing too sensitive at this stage. Got ahead and put me on the display." When McGregor patched him through, the room's holoprojector winked to life and displayed a life-sized hologram of the General's disembodied head and shoulders. "Good morning, Captain Delacroix, officers and crew of the JAF Fierce," he began.

Delacroix nodded. "Good morning, General." To the rest of room, she added, "General Collinsworth is with the JAFI. They've been working on this since it first broke. You have news, General?"

Collinsworth nodded after a few seconds. "I do. Our contacts with SolaPol have finally dug up something on this 'One' reference the pilot who attacked you made. We don't have all the details yet, but what we know seems to be a good fit for what we've seen happening so far. To say it's not something we expected is putting it mildly." Gesturing at something the viewers on the Fierce couldn't see, his hologram slid sideways as a full-body image of a middle-aged man flashed into being beside him.

"This is Lucius Marduke. Venusian, he's been many things over his life. Astrophysicist, entrepreneur, inventor, politician, and, most recently, the leader of a solar separatist group known as ONE -- Order of New Earth. They're a quasi-religious cult, small in size and influence. They have some radical ideas, but more or less normally stay under the radar."

"Maybe that 'ONE needs women' hypothesis I've got isn't so far off," McGregor commented. "Especially if they're trying to minimize genetic drift or something."

Delacroix frowned mildly. "We've seen the kind of behavior -- suicidal fanaticism, for example -- that indeed leads us to believe we might be dealing with a religious sect or cult of some kind."

"Marduke," Messier mused out loud. "The same Marduke of Marduke Optics?"

"Yes," Collinsworth answered. "He's severed his ties with the company, but only after making billions. Marduke Optics nearly cornered the market on civilian optics during the last part of the 22nd century."

"You know something of him?" Delacroix asked her first officer.

"No, I just recognized the name, and knew that Marduke Optics was a Venusian company."

"There's more," the general stated. "Marduke has a capital ship registered in his name -- the Sumiko Tan." Static broke the transmission for a moment, and when the signal strength returned, Collinsworth finished with "...an Imperator-class cruiser."

McGregor's eyes narrowed. "Sir," she said, addressing Collinsworth, "We might have a problem here with the transmission. We just got some static on an otherwise clear line." To Delacroix and Messier, she said, "With your permission, I'd like to run a diagnostic cycle on the line. We're on a tight-band transmission, too, so I'd like to point the ship's telescopes along the path and see if we just had an occultation -- perhaps with a third party."

Delacroix nodded. "I suspect the interference is do to the lingering effects of that nuclear weapon on our communications systems, but do it." Contacting the bridge while McGregor started her diagnostic, she continued, "Officer Lindy, this is Delacroix. I need you to point the telescopes back at Geiersburg, along the path of the narrow-beam transmission we're receiving. Tell us what you find. In particular look for anything that might have caused an occultation with the transmission."

"Will do, sir," Lindy answered quickly.

Spencer spoke up when the captain cut the bridge line. "So it seems we're nearly certainly dealing with Marduke and his people, then, based on the reference the Ryu pilot made to 'One' and the presence of the cruiser. So where's Marduke? On the sled? What would he want with it? And what are 'solar separatists'?"

Master Warrant Officer Obedience Jones, the ship's chief engineer, fielded the question with a nod from the captain. "Solar separatists believe that humanity's next great step is to move beyond the solar system, to the stars. They all have their reasons for believing such a move is necessary, but nearly all of them think that humanity has somehow 'poisoned' the planets and space around Sol. They're often political dissenters, religious outcasts, and other types that society might label as oddballs or social misfits." Pausing to wipe a bit of sweat from her bald, dark-skinned head (the briefing room's climate control system appeared to be malfunctioning), Jones added, "My sister belongs to such a group. They've been trying to find a suitable planet for habitation for nearly ten years now."

"I'm told that this particular group, ONE," General Collinsworth cut in, "teaches its followers that the solar system can no longer support humanity, and that mankind's only hope for survival is to 'live among the stars' -- they're apparently quite fond of saying that. Also, they saw the collapse of the Martian Elevator as a sign from a higher power that the end is coming, that humans have finally reached beyond their grasp. While he doesn't abhor technology, Marduke is said to preach about a simpler, 'purer' way of life."

McGregor snapped her fingers. "Got it, Sirs, Ma'am. I want a close look at the current orbit of that sled. General Collinsworth, if you could have some of our guys canvas the big science and technology universities, I'd like to run that orbit past some of their celestial mechanics experts. Feed them the mass of the sled but not its contents and find out just what it would take to put that sled on a solar system-escape orbit. Also, let's see if this Imperator could have been carrying the necessary equipment -- how do its cargo holds look, etc.?"

Captain Delacroix nodded slowly, seeing the direction in which McGregor was headed. General Collinsworth's hologram nodded as well. "Right, lieutenant. I know just who can help us out with that. Give me a few hours and I should have a definitive answer."

Addressing Delacroix, McGregor added, "Captain, maybe we can have that hot-shot pilot of yours -- Cyan was her name, I believe -- take a look at the trajectory, too."

Delacroix nodded her head again as Lieutenant Messier addressed the issue of the Tan's cargo holds. "The holds were empty," he said with a slight squint, his own mind turning the situation over, looking for angles. "She was practically a ghost ship in terms of supplies and stores."

"Bingo," McGregor commented. Turning to Jones, she asked, "Can you get me the name of your sister's group, Chief? I'd also like to contact them and see if (a) they've actually maybe turned up something, (b) know of anyone else who has, or (c) have experienced any interruption of their operations in the past couple of years that might hint at outside interference from a rival group. If my hunch is correct, ONE has found a planet and is preparing to turn that sled into an Ark.' She mused a few moments to herself. "And let's see how the other sleds are doing right now, in case we're following a decoy, and ONE is actually preparing to take another sled off-course."

"Security on the other sleds that are in-system right now is tight," Delacroix said. "All of them are being monitored very, very carefully. Nothing unusual has been reported thus far."

Jones then answered. "The group my sister belongs to is based out of Mars, and I have to say they don't sound much like ONE. Mostly they're fed up with the fighting there, I think. Some of them have lost family -- my sister's husband, for example -- and the idea of some far-off utopia touches a place in their souls that they've otherwise sort of forgotten exists." Jones smiled somewhat shyly. "Anyway, I can put you in touch with her. The group calls itself 'Rebirth,' I believe."

"Mm," McGregor mused. "That would be great, Chief. I didn't mean to imply Rebirth was anything like ONE, but if they've found something and ONE has acquired that knowledge, we'd better know about it."

Jones nodded and sent her sister's contact information to McGregor's datapad with her own.

"Line's clear," McGregor reported after reading a few brief reports. "Odd. Maybe you're right, Captain, and it was just lingering interference from that blast. Though, who knows? What with the climate control in here seeming to have gone all weird on us and that spurious spike in the signal to Geiersburg, maybe ONE has delivered a virus into our system." She chuckled at the absurdity of it.

Jones frowned a little. "I thought we'd fixed that on this deck," she sighed. "I'll get someone up here ASAP to work on--"

"I'm transmitting the SolaPol reports on ONE to you now, Lieutenant," General Collinsworth interrupted, the communication lag making his declaration a little ruder than it might have been. "And I also need to speak with you in private. Good luck to you, Fierce. You have the confidence of the Confederation behind you."

McGregor saluted sharply. "Sir." Turning to the captain an the XO, she saluted just as sharply. "If you'll excuse me, Ma'am, Sir."

Delacroix saluted the JAFI officers and opened the floor as the hologram disappeared and McGregor left.

Harry watched the Lieutenant exit the briefing room and slowly shook his head. Wild speculations about women-stealing cultists were all well and good, but he was concerned with more practical matters. "Does the investigation team have an estimate on how many more people the cruiser had been carrying?" he asked.

"Not that I've heard yet, at least no hard numbers," Captain Delacroix responded. "We'll want to make that a priority, however. I'll contact Captain Nesmith right away on it."

"We'll also check through the SolaPol reports and try to find out how large an organization this ONE group is. In conjunction with the findings of the Hadrian's investigators, we should be able to put together a pretty solid estimate of the number of hostiles you'll be looking at facing, Sergeant," Messier added.

"Thank you, sir. From the nuke and the Ryus we know they're well equipped, but numbers worry me more at the moment," replied Harry.

"It's a concern," Messier admitted. "After we've gone over the reports to identify the primaries as well as get an idea of numbers and capabilities of the ONE members on the sled, we'll have a briefing for the marines a few hours prior to the mission." Turning to Duran, he added, "I'll want all three squads present."

Duran nodded. "Yes sir."

"I see too many of my best people on their duffs in here," Delacroix said with raised eyebrows. "Lets snap to it while we continue to gather information and formulate a plan of action. Before we go, I want statuses from the chiefs. Tweet, you start."

Lieutenant Tweet cleared his throat. "Continuing with the rearm, maintenance and refuel of most of the squadron, sir. We're short two exos and a fighter. Swallow Two was destroyed outright, Valkurie's Retaliator might be partially salvageable once we get into port, and Finch One won't be back in action for forty-eight hours, minimum."

Delacroix nodded. "What about Swallow One and the Bigeye? I noticed that Lieutenant McGregor was wearing a neck brace. Were they damaged badly?"

"No. Swallow One's been reconfigured onto a standard ATMP, and is ready to go. The Bigeye suffered substantial damage to its antenna array and a couple of internal systems, but I think we can effect at least temporary repairs in the next ten hours."

"Duran?"

Officer Duran looked up at his two Sergeants. "The marines stand ready," he said gruffly. "The worst we've had is a malfunctioning comm unit in one of the Deckers, and I'm told one of Officer Jones' techs worked some magic on that."

Delacroix's eyes moved. "Spencer."

"The Redtails at reduced in strength, but we've still got teeth," the pilot said with his head cocked slightly. "Gunther and Cortez can take the two Lancers, while McLean and Montreal can fly with me. We've got five operational vehicles."

"Jones, I've already got your damage and repair report," Delacroix said, lifting a datatablet. "O'dell, what's your section's status?"

A burly, stubby man, Chief Gunner Angus O'dell had been shaken by the loss of Private Fan. His voice held a slight waver as he answered. "The starboard cannon is in fighting trim, as is the PDS, the spinal rail system and the missile bay. The port turret... well, we'll have to put in somewhere before we can do anything about that."

Delacroix turned to the small assembly and asked if there were further questions. When none were forthcoming, she ended the meeting with a curt, "Dismissed."

"Are we secure?" Collinsworth asked.

"Yes sir," McGregor returned, touching her earpiece. She'd remained behind after everyone had cleared out of the briefing room, and now spoke with the JAFI general in privacy.

Collinsworth cut to the chase. "It's looking like this Marduke character might have had help from the inside. The sled courses aren't exactly public knowledge, and our data analysts think the records of the freight aboard that sled have been falsified. Keep your eyes and ears open out there, Lieutenant. What do you know of this Jones woman, the one with the connection to the other solar separatist group?"

"Chief Jones?" McGregor asked. "I know she's considered exceptionally talented by many ship crews in the JAF. She could probably land a position on a more prestigious ship than the Fierce if she wanted to. She's keeps engineering running smoothly and is never afraid to get dirty -- she seems to relish challenges. I've seen several of her reports to Delacroix (they seem sometimes to get accidentally sent my way, I'm really not sure how or why, ahem) and they're thorough and well-written. You don't suspect her of something, do you, Sir?"

"Not really," the General responded, "but I don't like coincidences -- and it's a big one that this Jones woman has a sister in one of these groups. There aren't more than a half-dozen of these organizations across the solar system, and most of them have members that number in the several dozen range, if that. Keep close tabs on her."

All was nothingness.

It was into this complete absence of sight, sound and sensation that Vice became slowly self-aware. It was an unsettling thing. He was aware of his own thoughts and nothing else. He searched for a reason for his current condition, a final point of reference that he could use to determine where he was now.

A small flashing pinprick of light cut through the darkness. It seemed to hover in front of Vice, playfully beckoning him towards it. Could it be the light that guides the dead to their final resting place? Vice brushed aside the idea. He wasn't dead. At least he didn't think that he was.

Or was he?

There was something just out of reach, something important on the tip of his tongue. Something elusive and slippery that his mind just couldn't grab onto. The pinprick exploded into thousands upon thousands of speedlines, racing past him. The sudden infusion of light was blinding but as his eyes adjusted Vice could make out the lines of the monitors that lined the cockpit sphere of his Retaliator. His arms were strapped into the control arms of his linear frame.

He was in his exo? That didn't make any sense. A sharp steady tone buzzing in his commset accompanied the arrival of several red lines outlining an exo ahead of him. It was a target lock tone, his missiles had locked onto the Ryu. In another instant two missiles streaked from his Exo bearing a final message for the Ryu pilot.

The missiles disappeared in a explosion of incredible intensity and angry intent. The cockpit sphere of the Retaliator shuddered and shook violently before the whole sphere caved in under the force of the explosion. The explosion whirled around the disintegrating chunks of his cockpit moving like the greedy fingers of an inferno. The wall of fire seemed to hesitate and gather in front of Vice almost as if it was savoring the moment. It had cracked open the shell of walnut and gazed longingly at the nut within.

With one final gathering of nearby flaming swirls, the explosion plunged at the Vice, screaming. He could feel the heat through his flight suit but there was something wrong with it. The heat grew more intense and covered him completely. Through it he could see his flight suit blacken, giving in to flames. He watched as portions of the flight suit melted effortlessly away, exposing the bare skin beneath. It started slowly with a small patch here and there and then the entire protective material was consumed. The nuclear fires began to dance over his exposed skin, poking holes in his flesh and racing inside his body to drag race up and down the pilots web of nerves. Vice screamed as the pain grew beyond his tolerance.

Then he watched as his flesh burned down to the bone and the bone disintegrate into blackened dust.

Vice opened his eyes and was greeted by a wet, stinging sensation. His thrashing motions were slowed by a viscous goo that surrounded his entire body. It took him only a moment to realize that he was no longer dreaming. He was in a regeneration tank. Vice had never been in one before, but he had seen others whose wounds were best treated by total immersion in one. His heavy breathing sounded odd through the apparatus that covered his mouth and he could see several other tubes and wires digging into his flesh.

The healing gel was thick yet translucent to a point. Vice could make out the distorted images of medical techs and what looked like other patients. One figure remained close to the tank. Dr. Zelios scowled through the glass at the pilot. He was probably not too thrilled at Vice's stubborn walk to the medbay. Vice met the harsh gaze and shrank back. It was amazing how much authority the doctor wielded in the medical bay. He felt like a child who had just been silently scolded by a parent. Vice shrugged apologetically back. It was about all that he could do.

Vice turned his attention away from the scowl of his doctor. He made a mental note to send the medical staff a fruit basket when they got back to port. The last thing that he wanted to do was piss off the people who were tending to him. His skin felt funny now that he was getting feeling back in most parts of his body. He looked at one of his arms. The skin was a few shades redder than it was this morning and he could barely feel the various wires and tubes that were piercing his skin. He felt like some sort of monster from a horror trid.

Another figured approached the side of the tank. Vice had no trouble recognizing her face. Private Moore. Babette. The only woman on the ship who had any ties to a part of his past that he was not at all proud about. He smiled at her approach, for he was genuinely glad to see her.

Moore placed her palm on the glass of the tank and smiled, looking only slightly scary through the distorting glass. Touching a switch with her other hand, she spoke to the submerged pilot. In the liquid, Valkurie felt rather than heard her voice. "Well good morning," she said, her voice muted and full of bass. "You've been out for quite a while. How are you feeling? You're a hero, you know."

"I've been better. That's the last time that I try to tan with a nuclear weapon. They ought to put warning labels on those things." Vice replied. He hadn't given much thought to talking while in the goo and his response was instinctive. Curious at the fact that he was able to communicate at all without sounding like he was gargling, he then felt the communication pad that was attached to his neck. "I don't feel like much of a hero. More like a lab animal or one of those little fishes that come in the water-filled tin... This goo feels really weird. How long have I been out? Did they recover Swallow Two? How is the ship?"

Smirking at the man's barrage of questions, Moore answered, "The ship's okay. We sustained a bit of damage in the blast and took a few casualties." Her grin faded. "One poor gunner died. But they did recover Corporal Durst, and she's okay. In fact," Babette pointed, "she's right over there." Sure enough, Vice could make out a pair of red pigtails on the person who was sitting cross-legged on a nearby bed, watching an overhead screen. He noted that the room's beds were all filled. "And as for how long you've been out, it's been like twelve hours, I think."

Pausing for a moment, Babette lowered her voice slightly, making it harder for Valkurie to hear her. "You're lucky to be alive, Vice. It took us a while just to catch up to your exo, and when we saw what state it was in, well... it didn't look good."

Vice was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. "I can't tell you how unnerving it was out there. The whole exo was dead. I thought that I was going to be too. Everything was dark and lifeless and it was that way for hours. And then I hear the clanging of metal and again I had no idea what was going on. I might have been picked up by the Venusians or pirates." He tried to laugh but it came out as more of a cough. "I was so glad to see your face when the cockpit was cracked open. Everything seemed so right at that moment. Well... except for the radiation burns."

Babette grinned broadly.

"Uhm... have the docs said how long I'm going to be in here for?"

The shapely woman shook her head, making her ponytail bob. "I'm not sure, but I bet a while, judging from some of your burns," she said, tapping the tank with her finger and pointing to Vice's chest. The skin there was raw, an angry shade of red, and blistered in spots. Looking at it, Vice could hardly believe he wasn't in more pain.

"It's probably a good thing that stuff is laced with a mild topical painkiller," Moore commented.

"Otherwise Lieutenant Valkurie wouldn't be carrying on a rational conversation with you," Dr. Zelios commented from behind the woman. Coming closer, he looked over the top of his datapad and added, "He'd be screaming in agony instead. To answer your question, lieutenant, I want you fully immersed in the regen tank for at least twelve more hours. Then we'll re-evaluate your condition. I strongly suspect you're going to need to spend six to ten hours in the tank, daily, for the next week or so."

"Twelve hours, eh?" Vice said to Zelios as he waved his hand through the thick goo. "I won't argue that point. It's not like I have an exo to go back to. That Venusian really did a number on me. I'm going to have to talk to the manufacturers about the radiation protection in their exos."

"Twelve hours before you get reevaluated," Zelios clarified, moving off to another patient.

Vice turned his attention back to Private Moore. "Sorry Babette. I guess we'll have to hold off on Dinner, at least until I no longer resemble a microwaved turkey. How are you holding up by the way? There must have been some real excitement onboard when the nuke went off."

"I'm okay. It was pretty crazy," Babette responded. We completely lost power on most decks because of the pulse -- the same thing that fried your exo. But the backup systems came up pretty quickly, and the damage control teams went into action right away."

"Hopefully we won't have to go through that again," Vice replied.

"Hey!" a voice sounded behind Babette. "That you in there, Lieutenant Valkurie?"

Moore turned and found that Durst had left her bed and now approached the regeneration tank. Dressed in a medical gown, the diminutive pilot peered into the goo. "Looks like you're in one piece. That's good! I heard about you chasing down that Ryu. Nice shooting."

"Hey Dee Dee. In one piece and pickled in goo," the exo-pilot joked. "This just goes to show you what the price of being a hero is. They want to keep you preserved so that everyone can admire you. I'm glad to see that you're okay. And dressed pretty damn sexy too. Have you met Babette Moore?"

Durst laughed and was about to reply in the affirmative when another voice sounded out. "Pickled in goo, huh? Now that's damn sexy." Lieutenant Everett Gunther moved in closer, resting his hands on Durst's shoulders as he peered in at Valkurie. "You seem to have gotten yourself in an interesting situation here Vice." Gunther grinned broadly. "How's the hero?"

Even distorted by the healing gel that he was immersed in, Vice recognized the voice easily. "By situation are you referring to my jello bath or the attentions of these two lovely ladies?" he replied with a smile. "I'll let you in on a secret, Everett. Radiation burns really suck. I'm going to be stuck in here for a while, fighting off the effects of that nasty nuke. And this healing goo tastes pretty bad. Luckily, the company is good."

Gunther smiled, half at the bizarre tone of Valkurie's amplified voice, half at Babette Moore. She was dressed in a two-piece nomadic spacer's outfit, as usual, and her curves were impossible to ignore. Durst elbowed her flight leader when she noticed his wandering eyes.

Vice's tone turned serious. "Has the squadron been debriefed yet? That Ryu was nothing like the ones that I've read about. If you or Dee Dee could get me the recordings from the debriefing then at least reviewing them would give me something to do while I soak here. This gets boring very quickly."

Gunther turned his attention back to the figure in the tank. "Yeah, we've had the debriefing. You're right about the Ryus. No way were they standard spec -- though Lieutenant McGregor seems to think that maybe they were -- that we've been fooled all along... that the Venusians have kept it secret just how damned fast those things are." Looking back at Moore, Gunther felt a slight lump form in his throat. Wickter and Young were the women his subconscious had decided to pursue next, but something about Moore made the man's mouth go dry. "Anyway," he continued when a feisty Durst nudged him again, "I'll see about getting the briefing to you."

Vice's eyes narrowed. He had seen Gunther's glances towards Babette and he didn't like them. "That would be great, Everett."

Private Moore smiled a little, noticing the looks she was getting from Gunther. "Vice," she said to the injured Lieutenant, "I need to get some sleep. I'll check back in on you later, and we can grab some dinner as soon as you're out of there and cleared for solid food."

"That sounds great, Babette." Vice smiled as he responded, hoping that it didn't look too bizarre with the breathing apparatus coming out of his mouth. "It gives me extra incentive to get out of here sooner."

Gunther's brow knit slightly. "You two know each other?" he asked as Moore waved and took her leave.

"We're old friends," Valkurie said, his tone serious. It was an innocent question but to Vice there was an undertone that he didn't like -- and he certainly didn't like the way that the Lancer pilot was looking at Babette. Babette was very good looking and it would be only natural for men to stare at her, but with Everett's glances there was some bad history mixed in. Vice had seen Everett's womanizing tendencies first hand at the Jovian Military Academy, and had seen the negative effects of them. Seeing him falling into pattern with Babette began to get him concerned. "Really old friends. I've known her since before the Jovian Military Academy." And she is off limits to you, Everett, he thought.

"Oh," Gunther answered, watching the curvy private exit the medical bay. "She's very attractive."

Durst rolled her eyes. "Let's leave Lieutenant Valkurie in peace so he can get some rest," she said once Gunther had turned back around. To Vice, she added, "I'll be in here another ten hours or so myself, so just call out if you're bored and need someone to talk to. I don't imagine it's much fun in that tank."

As the pair of Lancer pilots walked from the tank, Gunther spoke to his wingman quietly. "Dee Dee, don't get too involved with that guy. He may not seem like it at first, but he's kind of bad news."

Durst frowned. Beyond the superficial sparring Gunther and Valkurie had engaged in so far, it looked like there was something more beneath the surface. They really didn't like each other -- there was bad blood of some kind. "What's the story with you two?" she asked softly.

Gunther forced a smile. "Some other time, Dee Dee. There's too much going on right now for me to dredge up old memories. Ask me about it sometime when we can have a drink."

At the end of her shift, Cyan was relieved by a typically ornery Corporal Poulo and was about to make her way off the bridge when Captain Delacroix called her over.

"Private Cyan," the captain continued as the young woman approached, "I'd like you to help us with something. We need to run some models against the sled's current trajectory. Given its mass, current velocity and current rate of acceleration, we need to know what it would take for it to reach an escape velocity for the system."

"For the solar system?" Cyan asked, her eyes a little wide.

The captain nodded her head. "Yes. We need to determine if it could be carrying enough fuel to make it out. Will you work with Officer Zieg down in the comp lab on it?"

"Of course!" Cyan replied, probably sounding more bubbly and excited than she would have wanted. "I'll get right on it, ma'am!"

Following a quick salute, Cyan started towards the exit, then turned back towards the Captain.

"Ma'am? Is there any reason why Corporal Orr couldn't be involved, as well? I'm guessing this is pretty important, so the more heads we put into it, the better."

"Absolutely," Delacroix returned. That lab isn't very big, but I'm sure there's room for one more. Report in as soon as you have some findings -- even preliminary ones."

"Yes ma'am."

Private Orr paused for a moment before heading through the door to the lab. "Arianna," he said quietly, "I just wanted to thank you for including me in this."

Cyan shrugged. She hadn't told the navigator about her requesting his participation.

"I mean... I know the captain would have asked me to stay behind as well if she intended for me to help with this," he added. Looking a little self-conscious, he added, "So thanks."

"Your course wasn't that bad," Arianna said. "We could use your navigational skills. Besides, if we get in a situation when you and I are on the bridge and need to get some work done, it makes the most amount of sense for you to be in on whatever is being planned."

Pressing ahead, Cyan stopped, then turned back, almost embarrassed, and said, "You're welcome," softly, before continuing forward.

"Come in, corporal, private," Officer Zieg called out from inside the lab, where she'd spied the two young Jovians in the corridor. Warrant Officer Ann Zieg, the ship's senior navigator, was a calm, collected woman in her mid-40s. She was a consummate professional, seemingly never caught by surprise by anything. "You two are here to give me a hand with the sled trajectory, correct? I can use the help, considering the number of variables involved."

"It shouldn't be too tough," Arianna announced. "Sleds get moving pretty fast, right? So, adjusting their trajectories, more than just a few degrees, is going to take a lot of thrust. Even if they brought extra parts and fuel, they're going to have to work with what they have, for the most part... they should only be able to adjust their course a small amount. If we can figure out where they might want to go, then it'll be relatively easy figuring out at which point in the sled's course they'll need to perform some course maneuvers."

"Good reasoning," Zieg said, waving to two open stations. "Have at it. Orr, if you want to check on some likely destinations given the figures we have, that would be helpful. Private Cyan, you can look at the fuel and mass models."

The two young crewmen took their positions. Orr brought his workstation to life and quickly logged into the virtual environment Zieg had created. "Likely destinations?" he asked.

Zieg nodded. "Yes. Star systems. Focus on closer systems first, and pay particular attention to ones with planets."

Orr paled slightly. "I'll get on it," he commented quietly.

End Week 7 Summary (July 22-28, 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.