The weapons systems needed to be cleaned for combat preparation. It was an automated process, Bert typed in the code for each weapon and selected the preferred cleaning method, though the lettering for the disabled cannon was grayed out. In deep space, the best selection was the laser cleaning, a low powered beam would be fired to smooth out the inside of the barrel, after which a laser would cut away any melted slag or clear any condensation that remained. The center screen displayed system commands still active during cleaning, mainly the secondary laser guns. As for the other systems, the remaining torpedoes were ready for manual operation, the green bars indicated that the shields were at full output, the engine fired nicely, and life support operated unhindered.
Fade examined a holographic map that kept track of the fleet. At a much smaller scale, the icons become realistic models. The Dorian, over seventeen times the size of the Imminent Destruction, dominated the picture. The formation was so tight that the Dorian’s silver hull filled main visual screen. The Dorian had a short frontage spike topped by a series of triangular metal plates that curved over the vessel’s elliptical body. Lights over the hull of the mother-ship released sparkles of purplish glow, the primary imperial color. The Imminent Destruction drifted too close to the Dorian, so Horace announced a course correction and Fade confirmed it.
The tap of feet conducted from the metal hall grew successively louder. Bert looked back casually to see Destiny enter through his good eye, the one not yet blackened. She turned Fade’s seat around while he was working, and slapped him so hard the crack echoed through the control room.
“Sure is a lot of that going on around here of late,” Bert muttered.
“What was that for?”
“The absolute humiliation I had to endure for the past hour.”
“If it wasn’t for your humiliation, you’d be dead.”
“I know that, but I had to get it out of my system.”
“Can I put my hand down your shirt?” Bert asked, “I need to get it out of my system.”
“You jerk!” she assaulted the other side of Fade’s face with an equally forceful slap.
“I didn’t even say anything, slap Bert.”
“Then tell him to keep his mouth shut and his hands to himself too. I want to be alone for a while, don’t even think of bothering me.”
“Not if you were the last woman alive,” Fade rubbed his cheek.
“I think you’re being a bit too hard on her.”
Bert grabbed a new cigarette from his storage bin.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“I’m hard on her?” Fade said in disbelief, “Get back to work.”
“Yes sir,” Bert then muttered under his breath. “Nobody round here preciates my pinion, just kicked round all the time.”
“Bert, I could care less. Are we ready to join the fleet?”
“Ready as we’ll ever be.”
“Make the safety announcements. I’ll contact General Dispaer’s office. Make sure the bridge hatch is locked. If she’s dumb enough to slap me in the middle of a battle I might forget myself and fight back.”
-----
Thirty-two infantry enhancement vessels (IEV), stood ready in the Imminent Destruction’s launching bay. Lieutenant Soel’s storm troopers sat within the upper torso of the seven-meter-tall humanoid vehicles. Their unprotected heads poked through a rubber-foam insulation that connected with their nervous system through chemicals and electrical currents. Inside, their bodies were curled up and packed in foam, but instead of feeling the limbs of their curled and protected bodies, they felt and controlled the limbs of the machine they were encased in.
In the arms of each trooper was a helmet that sealed to the neck of the unit, covering the head of the operator. The IEV units were heavily armored with black insulated titanium, except for the rubber-coated, titanium joints of the arms and legs, where the advance hydraulics were housed. The Lieutenant, also neck deep into the torso of his unit, scanned his storm troopers with a thoughtful frown.
Lieutenant Ontogi Soel’s presence destroyed disorder and entropy; prominence and symmetry defined him. Thick black hair was cut uniformly short, and even the stubble on his chin stood in neat rows. The chest plate of his IEV featured a perched hawk squeezing a dead rodent within its sharp talons stamped into the center.
He took the time to glare at each and every IEV operator; they might have been intimidated, but they knew better than to show a trace of it. His eyes were emperors. Some men use their size, but Lieutenant Soel uses his eyes.
The mission briefing had been dispensed with an hour ago on the observation deck, so Lieutenant Soel took a quick glance at his wrist communicator. The coordinates of the Imminent Destruction and the Neimun, one of the Buldethian’s signature ships, displayed on the screen. He launched into speech.
“I expect a few of you won’t make it back,” Soel scanned the group, saw no negative reaction, continued. “Good to see a determined group of men. It’s a rare privilege to lead such. Our Imperial military machine has become soft. This brigade is the last stand of military discipline in a sea of mercenaries and conscripts. Consider yourselves lucky to be a part of it. I made you men, you who had the guts to volunteer for this elite brigade. You’ll need to be as tough as metallic hydrogen for this battle. I expect results.
“Our leaders like to throw the term hero around. You know what heroes are? They’re dead men, and dead men are worthless! When you survive this battle, you’ll be more than a hero, you’ll be a veteran! A veteran is a hell of a lot more useful than a hero, and you’ll have something you can be proud of! I will never tolerate anyone who sullies the name of one of my veterans, so you can be the proudest damn soldiers alive! Do I make myself clear?!”
“Yes, Sir!” the men shouted in unison.
“Damn right! We move out as soon as the hatch opens. You can thank the navigator for volunteering to take point later.”
Corporal Joblesoni pounded the mechanical fist of his activated IEV, the inside of which had to be specially designed for his above average girth, against its chest plate.
“We’ll show those bulls some real strength,” Soel said, “Helmets on!”
The helmets of thirty-two units sealed onto their necks simultaneously. The view screens blacked out. Every operator would remain isolated and sensory deprived in their unit until the Lieutenant himself activated their systems.
They could nap or think in pitch black silence until the time for combat arrived.