Okkelen Constellation - Otomainen System - 115.23.03
On the Habitat
“FWEEE!” the 1-MC blared.
On the bridge of the ship the activity level dropped. A few eyes looked up at the overhead, seeing the metal piping and armor plating. They weren’t really examining it and their attention was elsewhere. Some of the crew seated in the lower, pit-like, sections looked at each other. What they saw there, under the harsh orange glowing of the holographic consoles, was strangely reassuring. This was an all-Caldari crew; no mixed ethnicities here. The empire wars, overpowering as they may be at some times were not an issue right now.
Down in the shuttlebay the marines were filing into the dropships, single file. By comparison to the somber bridge crew, they were quiet and not by choice: the engines were idling at power and the noise made it difficult to be heard. The sound was a deep, bone-jarring continuous roar that shook the chest, ribs, even internal organs. Nobody wanted to stand out here in the noise and wash of sound, hot air, and the smell of fuel, grease, and lubricant mixed in equal amounts.
In the cockpits, pilots and copilots could be seen checking instruments and running through the last stages of their pre-flight checklists. Here and there a variable-exhaust nozzle tightened or loosened as moveable flaps contained the raw power of the engines. Boots scuffed the deckplating as they stepped inside. Someone tripped over the lower seal of a hatch, only to be caught by the man behind and unceremoniously yanked back upright.
The 1-MC spoke up again.
“Stand by for a word from the commanding officer.”In portside Missile Bay 1 the crew chief snapped her fingers at a pair of technicians in the corner. When she had eye contact, she slid her fingers across her throat. They shut up. When she glanced around the rest of the compartment she saw her crew standing in their flash gear. They were in a variety of poses. Some were leaning on consoles, others were sitting at them. One had a reassuring hand against the skin of a missile on the auto-reload tray. A small team was working over a technical problem on a missile warhead and couldn’t be bothered to listen. They continued their intent work and low-volume discussion as a new voice began speaking above their heads.
“You all know why we’re here. Our contract calls for going into a Gurista staging ground,” the electronically-distorted voice said in all compartments, bow-to-stern. Floating serenely in his pod, the capsuleer watched through electronic eyes as he nudged the camera drone around 180 degrees. It panned to show him the long, lean, lines of the
Tengu bristling with launchers. The hull was shimmering behind the distortions of active shield hardeners.
“We’re on our own. No ships, no backup, low ammo. These pirates have chased us out twice, but the end’s in sight. Some of you’ve heard the rumors; that we came out with low shields on the last run, or that we’re done with this contract. But that’s not the case. We can and will complete this contract. Twenty-seven million ISK and counting: that's what we're at so far. Marines to your stations, and good hunting. Captain, clear.” The 1-MC fell silent.
On the bridge, the crew chief took her seat in the center command chair just in time. As she leaned back in the seat and fastened the restraints, the stars began rotating as the ship twisted through three axis, aligning for entry. The gravity increased and those few not in seats were suddenly holding onto conveniently-placed railings as the ship swung around. The screen by her right knee showed velocity steadily coming up and a shield booster ticking over. In the shuttlebay the last dropship was closing its boarding hatches. The roar of the engines began to increase.
“All right,” the marine commander was saying in the command dropship, speaking loudly to be heard over the din outside. The ex-Caldari State marine had mustered out years before the current war, only to take a mercenary’s paycheck instead. This would be his 70th boarding action in the last two years. His personnel - especially the younger ones - took heart in that. A lot of heads came up to focus on him as they heard his voice.
“You all heard the captain. Weapons tight. Safeties off. I’ll see you on the habitat.”
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Topic: On the Habitat (Read 907 times)