Facepalm

“Launch!” I shouted through the comms. It had been almost a month since we had any word on the fate of the Crew of Ark-9, and we were about to get some answers.

The drop pod which I was in echoed with the sound of the thrusters pushing me out. On my Helmet Visor, I had full telemetry data for my team as we fell through the void in our “coffins.” I had the brilliant idea of creating a combination quick assault lander and lifeboat that, if shot down, wouldn’t kill everyone. This was the result. A chamber that was three meters tall two meters wide and one and a half deep. It slotted into a cargo bay on one of the newly redesigned assault ships, and when launched, a whole lot of chaff was launched with it. There were minimal guidance and thrusters. I needed to work on that bit some more as they weren’t exactly stealthy.

We plummeted towards the Escort craft that matched the visual records that we had been able to pull from the shell of  Ark-9.  It was currently docked with a smaller vessel, which we had decided to call cargo haulers, or “Haulers” for short. The newly connected Hauler was the second that our sensors had seen that linked with this Escort, the first was still attached.

Surprisingly, the designs for the three ships did not look similar. They looked as if they had been built by two completely separate species with different aesthetics and engineering methods, with a collaboration for the third, in which the partnership that threw out any design features that may be considered easy on the eyes.

Observer, this looks like at least one different race.

:It is.:

What can you tell me about them?

:Closest Earth analog is a mixture between a slug, a scorpion, and Nessie:

How big? The first two didn’t sound terrible, but if Observer was also bringing attention to it by using a mythological giant monster, then I there was cause for concern.

:Two of your meters:

That doesn’t sound too bad.

:Tall. Ten long:

Shit.

I had brought Observer along for his knowledge. He was still in the proverbial “dog house” for the lies he had told to get our help for his people. It was understandable why he lied, which is the only reason he was seen as anything other than a prisoner.

I waited as the pod counted down before the impact. We had designed the pods with minimal life support and a nasty spike at the tip that should, at the minimum, punch into the ships armor. Then we would be walking across the hull to find an entrance.

In each pod, was a portable airlock so that if we couldn’t locate an exterior hatch, we could make our own while maintaining pressure, which should allow us to enter without alarms from pressure change or the airlocks cycling. Granted, the spikes holding marines that would pierce the hull plating would probably send out a signal, but we already probably triggered one.

Imagine sitting on the bridge of a ship, minding your own business, and an EM storm breaks out from nowhere. That EM storm being a side effect from skipping into the system using an FTL drive half designed half borrowed from the knowledge Observer gifted to me.

Less than five minutes after the EM storm, which should have been entirely predictable but hadn’t shown up on any readings, 80 explosions happening nearly simultaneously less than a kilometer away from you and suddenly your sensors are seeing incoming. Like I said, we should have already been seen. Unless, of course, no one is watching the sensors.

-I am not detecting any weapons systems powering up_

Neith, are we close enough yet for you to start infiltrating their systems?

-No. Due to the ship hull makeup, we need to be inside.-

:You know this.:

So I do. Of course, answering would just prove them right, so I naturally kept my yap shut.

“Impact in 3…2…” there was a loud *clang* as I said 1.

I doubt anyone heard me. The drop pods lanced the Escort craft’s hull, penetrating through and into the deck of whichever level we were on. I quickly pulled up the status as the drop pod opened up, blooming like an inverted flower bud, mostly. My drop pod had penetrated right next to a bulkhead, so one of the “petals” didn’t fully open.

“If you penetrated seal it with an airlock. I see some serious leaks. Sound off!” I pulled the airlock from its cradle and used my armored suits scanners to do a quick check on the environment.

Name:

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Jax

Danni

Build:

Engineer

Lieutenant

Status:

Full Suit Integrity

Armor 100% Effective

Air:

179:59:03

Vacuum, reserves running

Gravity

1.3 G

Stable

Accessories:

Thermacord – 10m

Engineering Kit MK-II

Weapons:

Ya No Ame Battle Rifle

50/50 (6 spare magazines)

Mono-blade

Phosphourescent Napalm Grenade (3)

As I was setting up my “command post.” and securing my LZ from the vacuum, the calls started coming in.

“All accounted for. Spread within acceptable parameters, Ma’am. We lost three of the decoy pods, and your Gremlins,” Lebowskis voice called in. The pods were acting as signal boosters for anyone within 500m, which was some big-time over-engineering as it would only take five, maybe six pods for full coverage of the ship. We had plenty of time to test out physically what we simulated with Hera, the research AI on our ill-fated colonization mission.

“Everyone, round up your dates and stay alive. I am surprised we don’t have alarms ringing. Did anyone see any suction as we popped the Escorts cherry?” I had just finished sealing up the airlock as I realized what my status was saying.

Vacuum. Not pressure loss, vacuum. The ship had already been vented before we added our teen rebellions piercings all over its non-metallic hide. What is going to happen this time?

“Give me status as you find the weird shit. I want all teams to amp up your scanners, FAST! Two teams, take those Haulers. We need to stop whatever is about to happen from happening!” and that was when we felt the ship move.

It was a gentle tug of inertia being transferred as the Haulers kicked up their engines.

“Check the cargo holds ASAP!” I called into coms as I felt everything “shift.”

Fortunately only the exterior hull was entirely non-magnetic. There was just enough ferrous metal in the deck plating that my magnetic boots kept me from crashing into the wall. The 1.3 Gs of gravity, though, ensured that I was knocked on my ass. I needed to amp up my PT. My traitorous right leg being the cause of my collapse.

It had been almost seven months since I had replaced my cybernetic limb blown off in a firefight while rescuing Ark-11. I spent one month in medically induced rehab while the Arks crew ensured I would live, then another month after that learning how to operate the alien tech that allowed us to clone limbs. From there it has been non-stop PT as the muscle growth in the cloning tanks don’t know the fast/slow twitch responses that someone who has learned how to walk does. My pride was barely wounded from this fall, only because no one was around to see it happen.

While I was waiting for my defense team to get to me, I ran a full check on my drop pod. Everything still intact, the “petals” were fully functional, minus the one that was lodged against a bulkhead. The defensive lasers were fully operational. I disabled the downed door and routed its power over to the other three petals.

“Thirteen shots” I mumbled to myself. Each petal should allow for ten shots from the laser cannons. Linking petal four to the other three, there would be some attenuation in the power transfer, just due to standard resistance. The crystals were better than most of the materials we had left Sol with, but that didn’t stop good ol’ Physics from being an ass and taking its due.

“Epsilon Two, where are you at? I’m all dressed up and ready for a party.” My team should be here by now, our landing spread wasn’t too far off.

“Sorry, Ma’am. I have a lot of equipment.”

“That you, Liefsdottir?” I radioed to him. “It’s been so long I think I may have forgotten what you look like. Hurry up and get here. Watson is already one up on you from what I can remember.”

When we had first come to terms with having been shunted over a galaxy away from our planned destination, Liefsdottir was supposed to be the Marine “Door Knocker” assigned to the boarding team sent to the first Escort ship in a simulation to keep us sane during Cryo. Our drop ship was shout out from under us (now do you understand why I went with the new pods?) and everyone but Watson and me was dead before even setting foot on the alien craft.

“Watson,” as it turns out is a very common surname on our cruise. There’s the Navy XO of Ark-5, an Engineer on Ark-5, and the unfortunate Corporal that had been rushed through training and had no training in zero-G when we escaped out the torn away tail of the dropship that was supposed to deliver us safely. So far, there didn’t seem to be any indication that the Watsons were related.

“Yes Ma’am, Lance Corporal Seethers thought it would be a smart move to send me with a spare box of your Gremlins. He packed them into my pod with me, real tight, too.” I wonder what Seethie was up to, I had only fabbed a total of three of the engineering drones I referred to as “Gremlins,” and those were all in their own spare equipment pod. One that Lebowski told me was lost in transit.

The Gr3M11 Engineering Platform had an NI extension unit built into it, allowing for a flexible utility to it that Neith himself lacked. Mainly a Hacking Suite, a Science Suite, and a scout ship grade scanner. Or at least those were the three that I had printed out/

-I find it highly suspect that there were spare Gremlins-

It’s what we call “Hazing,” I think. PFC Liefsdottir is still new to the unit. When we get back to the Rock, look up “Hazing and bonding rituals.” You may understand better, then.

-Thank you.-

Neith was my Neural Intelligence. A custom designed AI “lite” that was connected to the fancy cybernetic implant that I had in my head. Most of our quick assault team was keyed with one after their first successful mission. Either the taking of Escort 001, the liberation of Ark-11, the recovery of Ark-9, or if they had helped to liberate Ark-5 as it was taken over and then dropped on the “Rock,” which was shorthand for Outpost Theta as a “disciplinary” case and assigned to my dark grey / pale black operations team.

“Liefsdotter, where are you PFC?” It was taking him way too long to get here.

“Ma’am, I’ve been knocking on the hatch to the compartment you’re in, haven’t you heard me?”

Did he seriously just say that?

-I believe he did.-

:Yes, yes he did.:

I could feel the mental “facepalm,” that both Neith and Observer did after answering me.

“You better not be serious. You know we are in a vacuum, right?”

I was answered with silence.