Week 9 Summary (August 5-12 , 2002)

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Harry frowned again at the departing Lieutenant. "That woman worries me," he commented to Tucker. "A crate gets moved five meters to the left and she thinks it's a national bloody emergency. It'll be accusing someone of treason for stepping on her toe next."

Tucker's brow also furrowed. "She's a little overzealous, is she? Those JAFI types are wound pretty tight in my experience." Watching as the Intel officer led the navigator and pilot from their table, Tucker smiled slightly. "You think she's going to make them walk the plank?"

"More along the lines of an inflated sense of her own importance I think," said Harry, picking up his datapad. "I hope she doesn't start trying to throw her weight around." Harry shook his head. "Anyway, any word yet from the investigative team on what hardware the cruiser had been carrying?"

"I guess they're trying to compile all that now," Tucker replied, moving her eyes from McGregor back to Mandrake. "Though I heard Messier say that it was going to be tough to tell what was aboard because the cruiser had been stripped so bare. I think it's going to go one of two ways -- either these guys shot their wad with the Ryus and the nuke and don't have much left to throw at us, as evidenced by the light resistance on the Tan, or they've got some serious shit waiting for us on that sled. The guy heading up the group was a billionaire -- I'm betting the exo-armors aren't the only toys he laid his hands on."

"No bet," Harry replied as he scrolled through the report on his datapad. Dropping his voice he continued "It's got me worried. My first time to lead a squad into real combat and I can't even prepare properly -- I have no idea what to expect. Makes me think I'll screw up somehow."

Tucker looked at her fellow Sergeant for a moment, her eyes searching his face. Mandrake normally seemed so confident and together that this came as a bit of a surprise to her. "I'd forgotten that this was your first time leading a squad," she commented. "Don't worry, Harry. Our job is to do our best with what we're given. We've got good marines and top-notch equipment. It's not unusual for us to be dropped into a situation where we don't know many of the variables. Hell, it's unusual for us to know any of them half the time. From what I've seen from you so far, you're not going to screw up. I'll watch your back, you watch mine." Hesitating, she added, "I expect the shit to hit the fan, too. I think we're going to get into a firefight -- at least one. Prep for that. Prepare yourself mentally to be under fire, and to be able to issue commands and control your people in the heat of battle. Until we hear more about the capabilities of these guys -- which we might not, before we have to launch -- all we can do is wait, and be ready for the worst. We can't wait to act. God knows what they're doing to the people in those pods on that sled." Tucker's expression changed as she said, "We're going to find out everything there is to know in the pre-boarding briefing. Try to relax and take it easy until then. It sounds stupid, considering what we're about to do, but I've found it works. Get some sleep, do some meditation, write a letter, have some sex -- I know a couple of people I can fix you up with if you haven't met any casual partners yet. Just get your mind off it for a couple of hours."

"Thanks, Nora," replied Harry. His fellow sergeant's confidence in his abilities was reassuring, but a core of doubt remained. "I know I can do this, but I'm worried just the same... you're right, I should relax and try to take my mind of it for a while, I'm just going round in circles at the moment."

"It's only natural," Tucker replied, drinking the last bit of juice from a zeegee friendly container. "You've already witnessed first hand how serious these people are. I've seen the port KKC turret -- it's a mess. We're lucky we didn't lose all three of those gunners. I don't mean to diminish the seriousness of our mission when I say to do something to get your mind off it, but dwelling on it from now till launch is just going to give you an ulcer." The woman smiled. "And us sitting here stewing over it isn't helping. Did you want to do something? If you want, we could--"

"Tucker, Mandrake," the two Sergeants' PDAs suddenly announced. Mandrake's was already on the table, and he touched the screen and saw Officer Duran's brush-cut topped head come into focus.

"Right here, sir," Mandrake replied, followed shortly by a similar announcement from Tucker, who got up and moved into position beside her fellow squad leader to be included in the frame.

"I've got some bad news," the marine commander began. "I've just heard from Captain Delacroix that we'll be hauling live cargo with us over to the sled."

Mandrake and Tucker glanced at one another. "Sir?" Tucker asked.

Duran's heavy brow came forward. "Lieutenant McGregor is coming with us," he said plainly. "Captain's orders."

Harry could feel his worries returning. "Can I ask why, sir? I can't see how an intelligence officer is going to be of much help during a boarding action."

"That's need-to-know info, Sergeant, and apparently we don't need to know. I do know it involves her securing some sensitive data in the control center, but that's all."

"She'll need an escort," Tucker said with some amount of concern.

"She's to remain behind the fighting, if there is any, at all times. It's only when we've secured the control center that she'll be cleared to move out."

"So she's to stay in the shuttle till we tell her otherwise then?" asked Harry hopefully "Frankly sir, the situation is going to be tricky enough as it is without having to worry about an Intel officer getting killed or captured. Surely a comms tap into the sled's computer system would be sufficient until the sled is completely cleared of hostiles."

"The matter's not open for discussion, Sergeant," Duran said seriously. "We've got our orders. She will accompany us on the breach, but will remain in the rear. It's important that she gain access to the control center right after we secure it. We will indeed probably have to assign someone to safeguard her." The man's flinty eyes narrowed. "I don't like it either, but this is coming down from the top. I'll see you both at the mission briefing."

"Yes sir." replied Harry, trying to mask his lack of enthusiasm. "See you at the briefing."

Tucker's shoulders sagged as Duran cut the line. "All right, Harry," she muttered, "now I'm worried. I was going to suggest we hit the gym to blow off some steam, but I've got a better idea. Come with me."

"Excuse me, Private Cyan..." McGregor took a look at the other person's uniform. "Corporal Orr. I'm Lieutenant McGregor. I wonder if you'd be so kind as to join me in a stroll." She glanced very deliberately at the JAFI logo on her own uniform and flashed her best 'Intel-is-about-to-ream-you' smile at the pair. "You may consider it an order if it will help." She gestured towards the exit.

Orr looked up and swallowed, paling visibly.

Private Cyan looked down at the food on her tray, which she hadn't yet taken a bite from, then cast a glance over to Orr and his tray. It had been hours since she had last eaten, thanks to the overtime she had put in with Orr in the navigation center, and she was sure that the growls of her stomach, as well as Orr's, were protesting with answers of their own. She suppressed a sigh, then answered, "Yes, ma'am, a stroll would be fine," completely oblivious to the intelligence officer's subtle look of authority.

Orr was anything but oblivious as he stood up and saluted McGregor. "Yes sir, right away sir," he offered.

McGregor saluted back. "Please," she said, gesturing at their trays, "bring those along. No sense in letting Humboldt's cooking go to waste."

She led the two down the corridor to a small conference room. "This should be nice," she said, gesturing them in. "Face away from the cameras, if you would be so kind. Harder to read lips when you can't see them." She nodded over her shoulder at small security camera above the entrance.

Sitting beside the pair, she tossed her uniform jacket across the table to cover up a chair -- a chair which might have reflected the trio's faces back at the camera. Finally, she removed a small device from her belt, tapped a switch, and set it down in front of her. "Don't worry, Orr. It's not a grenade; it's for privacy." The device hummed softly.

McGregor cleared her throat. She'd meant to be a real hard-ass about this, but found it a little difficult. "I overheard you two in the mess discussing the topic of the sled's ultimate destination. I asked your captain to put you on the task; it sounds like you've reached a conclusion. There's one important detail you may have overlooked, however: that information is classified top secret -- need-to-know. You may not discuss it with anyone who is not cleared. You may not discuss it in the open. You may not discuss it in an unsecured room. You may not write that information down on any system, electronic or analog, that is not secure. You may not even write it down or type it in and then erase it. Are we clear?"

Corporal Orr was doing his best not to look terrified, and, somewhat surprisingly, was mostly successful. "Yes sir, understood, sir," he answered quickly.

"Yes, ma'am," Arianna agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "I'm sorry. And I appreciate you putting in a good word for me, but it's just that... I got to thinking... and I'm not convinced that they actually plan on leaving the system."

McGregor winced. "Private, off the record, I have yet to show you any proof that I'm even cleared for this conversation, so we really shouldn't be discussing it. However..." She checked her secure PDA and found Zieg's report. Passing the pad over to show that, indeed, McGregor had clearance, McGregor said, "Says here you pegged it at E Eridani. What makes you think they aren't actually planning on leaving? Corporal, feel free to chime in."

Private Cyan glanced over the data pad and shrugged, asking, "Aren't we all on the same side here, ma'am?"

"Absolutely," McGregor replied. "But you know as well as I -- you should know, at any rate -- that the military doesn't work that way. We do not have the liberty to debate or question policy. The fact remains: this information is classified, and we may not discuss it with those outside the level of trust defined by the relevant security clearances, whether those people are our best friends, our commanding officers, or some stiff from Intel who wouldn't know the firing end of her sidearm if it was labeled in bright orange stencils. Which, by the way, does not accurately reflect my training."

Private Cyan just frowned, not at the lieutenant's description of her training, but at the entire situation and especially the issue of security clearances. It struck the young helmsmen as hopelessly complicated. Even if it did have some uses, it would only slow things down, make them more difficult. She continued to frown as she answered McGregor's query.

"I'm not entirely sure if they're planning on leaving the system or not, but if they are going to try to take the sled out... well, there are a lot of additional complications that don't add up. If the reports are correct and they have a cruiser that they're using to transport supplies onto the sled, it would have to be carrying massive amounts of fuel, not to mention a series of thrusters that they could install in the sled. Even if they packed every last inch of that cruiser with fuel, it would take them thirty years, maybe more, to reach Epsilon Eridani. Why not just use the cruiser? It'd be more efficient and certainly less dangerous. And what about the firepower they've already used against us? If they just want to leave and create their own utopia around some other star, why are they so heavily armed?"

"Because they know they have made someone very angry, and that particular entity will stop at nothing to retrieve its property and its citizens. As far as the cruiser goes, yes, far more efficient. However, they aren't just making a trip to E Eridani for the hell of it. They plan -- I presume -- to start a colony there, and to do that, you need a viable gene pool or your colony will die off. Witness several documented cases of Belter colonies and the fact that most of them marry outside of their clans. Hell, look at the fact that it is illegal to marry a sibling in most civilized areas: inbreeding is not good for a population."

"Ma'am, I'm just guessing here, but I think it's more likely that they're going to use the sled as a weapon. I don't know where you got the data on their trajectory from, but if they are outfitting the sled with thrusters to alter its course, doesn't it make more sense that it'd be easier to point the sled at something *in* the system?"

Arianna, suddenly aware of how much she has talked, stops for a moment. Looking down, she pokes at one of her food packs, but doesn't eat. "I could be wrong, ma'am. As a matter of fact, I probably am, but it's worth checking, right?"

"Absolutely. You should hear the ideas I blurted out during the briefing and during my awful flight with Gunther. It certainly makes sense that an in-system target is easier, but the trick is that it's easier for us to get there, too. If they can get the sled out of the system, they're practically home free, because they have something we lack: hibernation capsules that will keep the passengers in storage for those thirty years. We can only give chase for so long before we have to turn back."

Orr watched as the two women bantered back and forth. It was Cyan's turn next.

"What about those people who didn't go into stasis when their liners linked up with the sled? I know there's not a lot of them, because of the cost, but what happens to them? Are they forced into stasis chambers? Killed?"

"Hm. I imagine they're forced into stasis chambers. The bigger the gene pool, the better. Best to keep them alive than to kill them off."

"I hope you're right. I hope they are trying to get out of the system, because I can't even imagine what would happen if they crashed that sled into something, but if you're going to board that sled, I think you should take a pilot with you," Private Cyan added. Instantly, she was surprised by her forcefulness, so she looked away, then suggested, "If the sled does have a target, in-system or out, you'll need to figure out its course pretty quickly and find a way to alter its trajectory that doesn't make things worse. Corporal Eroll is a very capable pilot and has a lot of experience. I'm sure he'd be an excellent and dependable resource over there."

"Hm..." McGregor mused. "Very likely I'll be over there once the situation is secured. Bringing a pilot along is probably a good idea, though frankly you're a better candidate, if only because you're already cleared for the knowledge of the ship's destination. The fewer, the merrier." McGregor had no intention of bringing Cyan along in the first assault, but she would certainly consider sending for her later if it came to that. "Also," she said with a wicked grin, "the sled seems more attuned to your particular style. I'm sure no one will suffer whiplash when your floor that."

"Ummm... thank you, ma'am," Cyan said, softly. "I just... I thought you'd want someone with a little more experience over there. I want to go, but I just though Jan might be a better choice."

"Maybe, but you're cleared for the information and he's not, as far as I know."

"Well, ma'am, if the captain approves it, I'll go," Cyan said, cautiously, shooting a quick glance at Corporal Orr who was still sitting beside her.

Gunther stood alone beneath a solitary light shining down from above. Around him images of days past flashed past intermixed with recent events -- his youth on Joshua Station, his time in the Academy, Dee Dee's fight with Fenris, his tangle with La Rue, the flash of his battle against the Ryus. All these stories replayed themselves out as he watched. Yet one event came into sharper focus as the others slowly entered shadow. It was in a tavern on Elysee. The tavern where he and Vice entered into another brawl, that final brawl, and all over a wom--

"Why Gunther?" a familiar voice called out, the sound of tears falling like rain. Gunther felt his clothes grow wet in the sudden downpour. "Just tell me why?" Gunther turned. There, standing just outside the light, was Gwen.

"Gwen?" Gunther gasped, feeling his heart leap.

"I loved you Everett," Gwen answered as she turned to leave.

Starting after her, Gunther grabbed her shoulder. "Wait," he cried out, tears welling up. "Gwen, let me explain." Her face turned, but it was no longer Gwen; instead Private Young stared up into his face, her glasses all crooked.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Gunther let go, backing off, stunned.

"Are you flirting with me, Lieutenant?" another voice called out to his right. Gunther turned to see Corporal Wickter disappearing into the shadow, smiling pleasantly at him. "I see you're a popular man with the ladies." The next thing that happened knocked Gunther on his backside as he got punched across the jaw. Staring up in disbelief, Vice stood over him, enraged.

"This time you've crossed the line Everett!" Vice exclaimed.

"Yeah, you've gone too far," the voice of Corporal Durst chimed in. She moved in close to Vice and embraced him. Vice in turn putting his arm around Durst, the two fading into shadow.

"Hey, flyboy," Babette's voice sounded out of the darkness, her image coming into view. "Want to take me for a ride?"

"Oh Everett," Private Young cried out, sobbing. Gunther look back at Young, but saw Gwen instead, her face in tears. The rain started again, a cold, salty rain. Gwen then ran off into the shadow, the sound of her weeping echoing till it changed into the sound of a young girl laughing and giggling.

"Stop that Everett," the girl's voice called out of the darkness. That was when Gunther started to cry as well.

"Susan?"

"Let's play hide and seek Everett. I'll go hide."

"Susan, where are you?"

Suddenly, the girl screamed. "Everett!"

"Susan!" Gunther shouted out, leaping out of his bunk, slamming the forward wall. He careened down onto the floor of his quarters. He lay there for a while collecting himself as he wiped the tears from his face. "Susan," he sighed as he pulled himself onto his bunk. He stared at his desk. The half empty flask lay on its side on the counter.

Standing up, Gunther stretched. Damn nightmares, he thought to himself. He picked up the flask. "It was likely just the damn alcohol," he consoled himself aloud. He looked around his cabin, feeling a bit claustrophobic. I need a walk. Punching in his personal code, he opened the small cabin safe, placing the flask inside and closing the safe door.

Donning on his flight uniform, Gunther soon set out for the hangar bays. Upon arriving, he could see that his Lancer, Susan, had been refitted with her regular ATMP pod. He moved up towards her and rested both hands on her, his head bowed. "You and me have come by a crooked road," he quietly stated aloud. He let out a deep breath. His sigh sounding out his true feelings of momentary despair.

Having fetched something from the women's marine dorm, the two Sergeants found themselves in a quiet corridor lined with cabin doors. Keying in an access sequence, Nora Tucker smiled at her companion. "These are Sergeant Lily Gatsby's quarters. She works on the flight deck. We're friends, and she lets me hang out here when our shifts are opposite and I need some privacy."

Moving into the quarters, Tucker turned the lights on low and sat down on a comfortable bench that could rotate and function as desk when required. "And right now," she said, pulling two short glasses and a bottle half-filled with amber liquid out of the soft pouch she'd been carrying, "we need some privacy." Filling the first glass, she added, "And don't worry. I don't plan on getting drunk. Just a taste to take the edge off and make me forget about our assignment for a few minutes."

Harry accepted the offered glass. "Cheers." The two of them raised their glasses and Harry took a swig. "Wow, what is this stuff?" he asked, trying not to cough.

Tucker grimaced as she swallowed as well, then motioned to the spot beside her on the bench. "Have a seat, Harry," she said, feeling the liquor burn her throat. Looking at the bit of it left in her glass, she answered, "It's scotch. Single malt. Expensive as hell, and worth every cred, don't you think?"

Harry sat and leaned back against the wall. "Not bad at all." he admitted. "On my previous postings I mostly drank cheap beers with the rest of the platoon you know."

Tucker refilled their glasses after the pair drank again, then capped the bottle and set it on a recessed shelf. "I've never been a heavy drinker," she said, leaning back against the stateroom wall as the scotch warmed her blood, "but I've always loved this stuff. It's so harsh, but so good." Closing her eyes and drawing a deep breath, Tucker felt her earlier anxieties drain away. "What are you planning on doing when you get out, Harry? Do you have any set plans?"

Harry grinned, his plans for the future were something he'd been working on for some time now and he relished the chance to reiterate them. "Yeah, I've got it all planned out. A brilliant career in the JAF Marine Corps, maybe work my way up to Warrant Officer. Then I'm heading back to Titan, get a job in THC's security division. With my service record I'll be a shoe-in. Make my way up the corporate ladder, ease my way into a executive position when I start slowing down." Harry's smile broadened as he thought about it and then laughed. "That's the idea anyway. I figure I'm well on track at the moment. Mostly I just want to go back to Titan. It's nice out there -- people seem to able to leave the planetary politics behind." He paused for another sip of his scotch.

"Wow," Tucker commented. "You've got it all laid out. Must be nice to be so organized about things. I didn't know you were from Titan -- what do you think of the whole independence thing?"

"Ah, it was going to happen sooner or later anyway," said Harry dismissively. "It's just a normalization of what was already the de facto state of affairs. Let's face it, Titan's too far away from anywhere else for anything other than self-governance to make much sense. I just hope the new ruling council doesn't decide this is actually in any way important."

Tucker made a sound in her throat as she swallowed a mouthful of scotch that indicated she agreed.

"So what about you, Nora? I trust you don't have your life planned out with as much obsessive detail as I do."

"Shit no," The brunette grinned. "Truth is, Harry, I don't know what the hell I'm going to do when I get out. I know I don't want to stay in as long as Duran has. He's a good man, but this is his whole life. No wife, no kids, no place to retire to." Her smile turned crooked. "Maybe I'll see about joining up with SolaPol. That sounds like interesting work to me."

"SolaPol." Harry considered it for a moment. "Yeah, I can see that. Probably get sent to the Orbitals for training. Did you have any particular bureau in mind?"

Nora shrugged. "Not really. Something active, at least at first. Commercial Security, Fugitive Retrieval, Crisis Intervention -- something like that. I haven't thought far enough ahead to think what I'll do once I start 'slowing down,' as you put it." The woman smiled as a rosy glow touched her cheeks. "I guess SolaPol wouldn't be much different than the JAF in terms of having a life outside of work."

"...and so he goes to do this flyby, just to show off for the womenfolk of course. He does a slow spiral and ends off with his exo giving the observation window a salute. It would have looked very impressive if he hadn't collided with the communications array a few seconds later." Vice laughed as best as the breathing apparatus would allow him to. "You've never seen anyone hit afterburners so quickly, let me tell you. He was only embarrassed for a few days and then was back to chasing down every bridge bunny on the ship."

Durst laughed and grinned, seated in the chair she'd long since pulled over to the regeneration tank.

"Speaking of chasing down, what is the deal with CT?" Vice continued. "Is she always that friendly?"

Dee Dee's smile turned rueful. "It depends on what you mean. Yvette is pretty darned friendly with good-looking guys, yes. It wouldn't surprise me a bit to hear that she's been flirting with you." Durst looked at the indistinct figure in the tank. "So... has she?"

"She has. I didn't want to jump to any conclusions so that's why I'm asking. Not that I don't mind the flirting but..." He fell silent for a moment. "I've been curious about something you mentioned earlier. You said that Babette had a hold on the guys on the ship. What did you mean by that?"

Dee Dee shrugged. "I dunno. It's like she gives off this vibe or something. I mean, I know she's really sexy -- but so many guys are goofy over her its not funny. You must have noticed it -- the vibe, I mean."

Vice's thoughts fell back to a moment in time that seemed so long ago. The first night that he met Babette. "Now that you mention it, I did feel something. I guess I was a little too distracted at the time to really notice it, but looking back..."

"I think a big part of it is that she's turned them down flat -- all of them, as far as I know. That's why I'm thinking guys are going to envy you, since you've already got a relationship with her."

"And here I was thinking that it was because of my skill as an exo pilot." Vice smiled and shrugged. "So much for patting myself on the back. So Babette has been turning down a slew of suitors, eh? I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. Uhm... I mean with all these people living in such close quarters... it's... er... difficult not to become emotionally attached to someone. You know what I'm talking about right?"

"Sure," Dee Dee replied. "It's only natural -- especially given the way Babette dresses, no offense to her. And I didn't mean to say you weren't respected for your piloting skills -- certainly you are, Lieutenant Valkurie. You just have this added aura with some of the crew because you came aboard and had this instant relationship with the hottest, most unattainable chick on the whole carrier."

"I guess Nomads are used to dressing that way. I find it rather distracting at times but I suppose that it has its utilitarian uses." Vice mused. He grinned broadly and continued. "Boy it's a good thing that I didn't give in to my second impulse when I saw Babette at the hatch of my damaged Retaliator. Just seeing anyone who was not hostile was enough for me, but Babette. Oh the scandal that would have occurred," he joked.

Durst sipped some water from a container she'd gotten from Dr. Gilmour. "Do I even want to know what your second impulse was?" she asked with a smile. "Or your first?"

"Hey now," Vice teased. "Why don't you be the first friendly person I see when I emerge from a mostly melted and slightly irradiated exo-armor cockpit after the better part of a day, wondering if I was ever going to see the ship again, and find out. Although I hope that you don't mind if I try not to get shot up like that again. The experience was far from fun."

Vice continued, although along a different vein. "And call me Vice, Dee Dee. No need for formalities while we're in here. So your whole family's military? How does that work out?"

"It's rough sometimes," Dee Dee answered. "Because we're posted all over the place, it means we rarely all get together in one place at one time. The last time we were all together was like three years ago. I guess that's not uncommon for a lot of Confederation citizens, but we're a really close family. I'm the youngest, so I kind of grew up with my big brothers taking care of me. It was weird when the last of them went off for JAF basic. I love my mom and dad, but it felt kind of lonely without the boys around. It just seemed natural for me to join up as well. I'm loving it so far. I mean, there's all the chain-of-command crap that goes along with any military, but it really feels like a second family to me."

"Hmph. Family," Vice said softly. How long has it been, he thought to himself. How many years since they were all together? The memory of their last moments together was not at all pleasant. It was the sort of memory that Vice tried to forget, but sometimes the anger and the emptiness surged through his defenses. He could feel the tendrils even now, prodding their way to the surface. Time for a distraction. "So you think of us all as a big family then? I'd better not ask you out on a date then. It would seem wrong to date my little sister," he joked, driving back the leading edge of his memory.

Durst smiled and blushed a little, though Valkurie couldn't see her cheeks pinken through the distortion of the healing gel and glass barrier. "Thanks, but I've got enough big brothers already," she laughed. "And now that they aren't around, Gunther seems to be set on taking on that role." Absently playing with one of her short pigtails, she added, "Anyway, if you ask me out on a date, I definitely wouldn't act like your little sister."

"Lieutenant," Sergeant Lily Gatsby called up to the pilot, who was seated in the cockpit of his lancer, "I just got word from the bridge -- they want your bird refitted with the Bigeye ATMP, which has been repaired -- at least enough for what they want to use it for."

As if on cue, Gunther's comm unit beeped and flashed. Acknowledging that he'd heard Gatsby with a hand signal, he accepted the incoming transmission. Senior Lieutenant Spencer's face appeared on the tiny screen.

"Gunther -- the Bigeye's been repaired, and the Captain wants you and McGregor to do some scouting on the sled before we send the marines; Cortez will fly cover for you. The deck crew needs to refit the ATMP, but when that's done expect to get the call." Spencer lifted an eyebrow. "Are you okay with another sortie so soon?"

Gunther raised an eyebrow himself. "Am I ready for another sortie?" he replied rhetorically. "Sir, Everett Gunther is always ready to log more flight time. It's what I live for," Gunther proclaimed proudly, his voice getting dramatic. "Well, mostly." He smiled a Cheshire grin.

"Good, I knew we would count on you."

"When is my expected ETL?" Gunther asked plainly.

"I'm told the Bigeye takes a little longer to hook up than a standard pod, so I think we're looking at around an hour."

"I'll consult with McGregor before then sir," Gunther affirmed. "Anything else?"

Spencer shook his head. "No, though for a more precise estimate regarding when your Lancer will be ready, talk to the deck officer. I think Gatsby is on duty. Spencer out."

"Roger that," Gunther grinned, despite knowing that Spencer had already signed off. He rubbed his hands together, like a teenage boy preparing to dive into a swimming pool full of bikini-clad supermodels. "Susan, maybe this time around we can rip those Venusians a new one, or two." He grinned again with a Cheshire smile.

Vaulting out of his seat, Gunther swung himself out to the ladder. As he began climbing down, he called out to Gatsby. "Well, looks like I need to hand Susan back to you for another AMTP refit." Looking over his shoulder as he reached the hangar floor, Gunther continued, "...and looks like the whole gang is here, ready to go."

Gatsby glanced down at her data tablet, then back up at the pilot. "We'll have it ready ASAP." Warmly eyeing the arriving deck crew, which consisted of Booger, Loogie and Private Young, she added, "We should have it done sometime tomorrow, with this bunch."

"Hey!" Private Panoz exclaimed. "That's not fair! No way it'll take us that long!"

"Just you watch! We're going to set a record!" Tanaka added emphatically.

Smiling openly, Gatsby winked at Gunther. "I'm just kidding. Give us an hour, Lieutenant, and we'll have the pods swapped out." More quietly, she added, "You just have to know how to motivate those two."

Gunther couldn't help but smile. Gatsby wasn't exactly pretty to look at but he had learned to enjoy her down-to-earth humor, just a bit. "That'll be great. As I understand we should near the sled by then." Gunther couldn't help taking a few repeated glances at Private Young as he spoke and she passed by. "Mind if I stand and watch for a while?" he inquired to Gatsby.

Gatsby shrugged as she made some changes on her tablet. "Of course not, provided you don't make a nuisance of yourself."

As Booger and Loogie set about grabbing the tools they'd need, Private Young avoided Gunther's gaze and busily worked at getting her datapad connected to the ATMP's wireless interface. A few moments later, she began powering down the pod's subsystems in preparation for its separation.

Gunther casually strolled over toward where Young was working, observing her work. "Good afternoon Private," Gunther interjected over the mechanical whine of power winches and other tools that Booger and Loogie were using to detach the ATMP from Susan's main hull. He knelt down to look over the Private's shoulder, watching her work. "And how are you this most excellent day?"

Turning from her datapad, Young blinked at the Lieutenant from behind her glasses. "I'm okay, sir," she answered simply before looking back at the readings on her PDA.

"What're you looking at?" Gunther inquired, moving to point his finger at the PDA screen.

"Um, just making sure all the ATMP connections are shutting down properly. Sometimes the Lancer's computers can get kind of screwed up when you attach a new pod without making sure all the connectors closed out cleanly." Young touched the screen and inspected a few more numbers before turning to look at Gunther. "So I guess you and Lieutenant McGregor are going back out... is she still way-mad at me, do you know?"

"Mad at you?" Gunther gaped. "So, you found her bad side too, eh? What did you do?"

Young made a face. "Nothing! Well, I mean, not nothing, but nothing serious. At least I didn't think it was serious. She caught me with some non-regulation electronic gear, and kind of wigged -- she was going to call security and everything, but I think she believed me when I told her I was just using the device to make my job easier. I think she's really possessive of the Bigeye pod, and gets a little freaked out by other people working on it."

The fighter pilot smiled. "I think McGregor would file a report if you looked at her funny." Gunther moved in closer, placing his hand on Young's shoulder, trying to reassure her. "She intelligence; they like to control perception... and from my perspective, she seems more bark than bite really. I've seen the kind that really do bite, and she doesn't match the profile. As much of a pain in the ass that she can be, I'm pretty sure its just a bad case of professional overcompensation cubed."

Young shrugged, shying a little from Gunther's touch. "I guess so," she said simply, distracted.

Realizing that he may have been a bit too forward in touching her, Gunther takes his arm off her shoulder. "You shouldn't let people get too much under your skin," Gunther consoled. He paused trying to look into Young's averted eyes. "...Even me," he then added with a delicate grin.

"She's not really under my skin... it's just that I don't want to get reported. She seemed okay with things in the end, but I still have to sit down and talk with her." The private blinked at Gunther. "And, um, what makes you think that you're getting under my skin?"

Gunther withdrew back a bit. "Well," he said, stumbling for the words. He was finding himself strangely captivated by Young's seeming innocence. "You always look away from me when we have a conversation. I figured that I must make you nervous. Do I?"

Young blinked a number of times, fighting the urge to avert her eyes. "No," she finally managed, after several painful seconds.

"Lieutenant, I said you could hang around if you didn't make a nuisance of yourself," Sergeant Gatsby called over to the pair. "Are you making a nuisance of yourself?"

Gunther turned to look back at Gatsby. "No ma'am," he replied. "I was consulting Private Young on electrical connections onboard Swallow One." He turned to look back at Young, her eyes still looking at him. "...among other things," he spoke, more softly so only Young could hear. He winked at her as he stood up, keeping his gaze on the young woman. Her eyes followed his, but he could see the pained effort. She was clearly really shy. "I'll leave you to work."

End Week 9 Summary (August 5-12, 2002)

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