Into the Black: Odyssey One (44 page)

To say nothing of the fact, that he had no suits on hand for those people and in the battle to come, a hull breach was all too likely.

Chapter 29

“Clear that deck!” The LSO screamed, though he didn’t technically have to raise his voice. The comm-net would intercept and normalize the volume before it was shot across the vacuum of the flight deck. “Inbound on the ball!”

The computer filtered out the mass of acknowledgments, its programming designed to bring problems to his attention, rather than highlight what was going right. This time everything seemed to be working well, and the software didn’t raise any flags.

Not that Chief Mackenzie was going to take that for granted.

His eyes roved the flight deck, looking for anything that might inflict FOD (Foreign Object Damage) on the incoming craft. He wasn’t sure if the alien ships were likely to suffer any bad effects from a FOD strike, but it was better to be sure.

When the deck was cleared to his satisfaction, he nodded and waved to one of the Cat Control Crews who were standing well out of the way in their green accented suits. The Crew Chief flashed him, a thumb’s up, rather than clutter the network with chatter and Mac turned back to the front of the immense flight deck.

The unblinking stare of the stars beyond the maw of the deck was just a little unnerving, but he’d seen it before and was finally starting to get used to it. Certainly it wasn’t as bad as trying to launch fighters in a hurricane; though it was close he had to admit. He had two men down by the opening, clearing the deck and didn’t envy them that job in the slightest.

Once they were clear and out of the way, he switched over to a control channel, “deck is clear for landing.”

“Roger that,” the answer came back instantly. “Drone will lead, watch the followers.”

“Right,” Mac muttered, cutting his channel just after.

Who thought up this idea, he didn’t want to know. Chances were that it was the Captain and in that case, he’d really rather NOT know. Because he and his crew were duty bound to curse the idiot’s soul for this and Mac rather liked Captain Weston.

The problem was of course, that the incoming ships didn’t have any active communications with the Odyssey, let alone Mac’s deck crew. Which was the closest thing to insanity he’d run into, since the war.

Four alien ships, who don’t know fuck all about our systems, procedures, or technology…and we’re landing them on a closed flight deck that has a damned field patch running up its center…
Mac shook his head.

Total lunacy.

Someone yelled and it was patched through his suit.

“I’ve got the drone in sight!”

Mac looked up quickly, eyes sharp as he scanned the maw of the deck.

“There it is!” One of his men pointed.

Mac spotted the drone a second later as it dropped into view from above the top of the closed deck, settling in on an approach course that would bring it right down the center of the deck.

The LSO grimaced slightly, though not seriously. Normally that was the optimal course, but with the steel sheets patching the gash in the center of their deck, it might be a bit rough on the smaller size of the drone and could even damage the systems.

He shrugged that off as it wasn’t his problem, but made a note to have the deck FOD checked again as soon as he could, just in case something got jolted off the drone, in the process.

That was about the time that someone screamed, this time for real.

The yell was logged into the system, its source noted. Mac’s HUD lit up like a Christmas tree, as he spun around.

The man who had yelled was pointing outside, and still yelling.

“Sweet Jesus! Look!”

Mac looked.

The experienced LSO went pale in his vacuum suit, as he saw what had scared the crewman. The four alien shuttles, such as they were, were coming in practically right on each other’s tails!

“Wave them off!” Mac yelled, flashing signals with his arms. “Wave them off!”

Men were darting out of the way, gluing themselves to the walls of the flight deck, as part of his signal corps held their ground, signalling desperately to the alien crews with lighted batons.

The four ships ignored or, more likely perhaps, didn’t understand the signals and kept on barrelling in.

Men dove for cover on both sides and even Mac kicked off his position and flew for the blast shield that was set up near his position, in case a fighter hit the deck hot. He hooked his hand in the grip and swing down into the bunker, where two men from the Crash and Salvage crews were tensing to jump into motion, if the worst came to happen.

Mac pulled himself out of way of the figures in the red accented suits, grabbing a handle so he could look through the clear blast shield.

His eyes widened as he watched the four ships come in like a god-damned freight train, barrelling into the deck, well past any sane speed, then come to a smooth stop like they were bolted together.

The four shuttles came to a rest, just meters from where he was hunkered down, maintaining precise distance from each other and for a moment, Mac found himself looking for the braces that must be connecting them.

He didn’t find any though, and just wasted long minutes staring, until his heart finally slowed back down to normal. Finally, he climbed out of the blast bunker and walked over to the shuttles, wondering if anyone inside had seen the scramble.

A flash of embarrassment and anger rose up in him, but the experienced LSO forced it down and pulled the two lighted batons, from his hand. He flicked them over to the brilliant green setting and waved both of them to the nearest lock.

Slowly, the first of the ships began to move in that direction, this time at a decent pace and Mac walked it to the lock.

“Gregor! You get the next one.”

“You got it Chief,” a shaky voice came back and business slowly returned to normal on the flight deck.

*****

“They’re aboard, Captain.”

Eric nodded a little dumbly at the unneeded comment, still staring at the screen. “Any injuries?”

“No sir.”

“Thank God for that.” he sighed, standing up. “Commander, you have the Bridge. I’m going to have a chat with the pilot of the lead ‘Orbiter’.”

“Aye Captain,” Roberts nodded, moving to take Weston’s place, as the Captain turned and strode back to the lift.

Eric shook his head as he sat down in the lift, after letting it know where to take him. He wasn’t certain what he could say to the man, or woman, flying that heap, other than to inform them of proper flight protocols.

Proper protocols for this ship, at any rate.
He corrected himself.

It was obvious that the alien drive technology was entirely different, then the reaction-based system, that the Odyssey and its onboard compliment used. The Archangels could match that kind of precision flying and often did, but no other craft built on Earth could hope to do it and even the ’Angels would never try it on a
landing
.

The pilots were obviously used to maneuvers that made Earth’s precision flying look like child’s play, so Weston idly wondered what would happen to flight teams like the Blue ’Angels and the Snowbirds, if and when this drive technology became part of the Earth tech base.

Probably nothing,
he thought after a moment.
Fighter will always look impressive and dangerous to crowds, even if freighters were able to match their maneuvers.

Still, it wasn’t a happy thought to the former fighter pilot.

As the lift stopped, Weston pushed the thoughts away and grabbed a pair of magnetic boots as he kicked out into the zero-gee deck.

*****

Impressive drives or not, they were still ugly as sin.

Weston floated along the wall, as the first of the ‘Orbiters’ rose up from the evacuated deck below, riding the massive airlock up into the ‘parking’ level.

The squat ship was little more than a flying box, without even the bristling sensor antennae that would give it a vaguely utilitarian look. Instead it looked like someone had attached some kind of drive system to a cargo container and wished its crew the best of luck.

Weston waited for the Orbiter to come to a halt in one of the parking places normally reserved for the Odyssey’s shuttles; he walked over, as a small crowd gathered around it.

“Where’s the door?” Someone called out.

“Damn if know.” another of the flight op crew shrugged. “Looks like a brick without the wings.”

“Captain on deck!” Someone snapped out as Weston approached.

The men snapped to attention as Eric touched down, the echoing clanks of his boots rebounding through the deck.

“As you were,” he said, waving them off.

The crowd began dispersing as the airlock began to rumble once more.

Weston and the Deck Chief stood there, watching the ‘Orbiter’ for a moment, before they were startled by a section of its sidewall just melting away.

“Hole-ee Shit,” the Deck Chief muttered, actually taking a step back, flushing as he realized what he said. “Sorry, Cap…”

“No need. I know the feeling,” Eric replied, watching the fluid motion of the ‘metal’ as it pooled on the floor of the deck, and built up a ramp that led up into the ship.

It looked impressive, but Eric had to admit that he didn’t like the idea of flying in a ship that could melt around him without warning.

It was at that point, that a figure appeared at the ‘hatch’ and began to walk down the ramp. She, Weston realized, stopped just before stepping onto the Odyssey’s deck and made a motion with her hand, crossing her chest, palm up and open. It struck him that it was probably a salute or something similar, so Eric Weston snapped to attention and brought his fingers up to his temple, while he felt the Chief do the same at his side.

“I would like permission to set foot on your vessel, Captain,” the woman’s voice came through the translator clearly.

Weston nodded and dropped his salute. “Granted.”

“Thank you,” she nodded, stepping off onto the deck, only to float free suddenly as her feet no longer wanted to remain connected to the ground.

“Chief!”

“Got it, Cap!” The Chief said, boots clanging on the deck, as he grabbed the woman’s arm in mid-tumble and pulled her down to the deck.

She was none the worse for wear, but her face was flush with embarrassment and anger, as she muttered something the translator didn’t catch.

“My apologies,” Weston said, as he motioned the Chief to take her over to the wall where they could find a pair of over-boots to fit her. “I forgot to mention that our lower decks are all in zero-gee.”

“My mistake, Captaine,” she said, her flowing accent quite crisp from her annoyance. “I should have checked my instruments.”

“Nonsense,” Weston waved a hand. “It’s my understanding that your ships all have artificial gravity why would you check?”

“Perhaps,” she grated obviously distressed by the rather ignominious impression, she felt she had left.

She took a deep breath as they reached the wall turning back to Weston. “I am Ithan Cora Sienthe.”

“Captain Eric Weston,” Weston nodded once. “Pleased to meet you.”

“I as well.”

“Now,” Weston smiled thinly as the Deck Chief fetched a pair of magnetic boots. “Let us talk about your landing protocols and how they impact on my ship.”

*****

“How are they, Diana?” Doctor Rame asked as he moved slowly through the ranks of patients who were slowly returning to consciousness.

“No obvious allergic reactions and they seem to be reacting to the stimulant, as expected.”

Rame nodded, “good. As soon as they can walk, get them divided up into groups. We have to get these people off the Odyssey, before we break Orbit.”

The nurse nodded professionally, returning to her task, as Rame continued on, masking a grim look on his face.

The Doctor really didn’t like being pushed on such a tight schedule, but the Captain had given him his orders in no uncertain terms. Get these people off the Odyssey, upright or on their backs, within three hours or the Odyssey would be entering battle with them on board.

Being the Chief Medical Officer gave him quite a lot of power, even over the Captain, but none of it concerned tactical decisions.

So he found himself pushing the envelope of what he’d recommend under similar circumstances, trying to get as many of the patients moving under their own power as possible. Any others, they’d carry off, if they had to.

A ship in combat was no place for an innocent bystander.

Not even when the ship was itself, an innocent bystander of sorts.

*****

“Captain.”

Eric Weston nodded as he watched the first flood of shaky passengers being led to the small ‘orbiter’ that was parked on his deck. “Lieutenant.”

“Begging the Captain’s pardon Sir, but I just came back from the Archangel’s berth.”

“Did you deliver my request to speak with Commander Michaels?”

“Yes Sir,” the Lieutenant was sweating, Eric noted.

“Then why is the Commander not here, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, I… Sir… That is Lieutenant Amherst…, Sir, he…”

“Spit it out,” Weston snapped.

“Sir!” The young man snapped straight. “Lieutenant Amherst told me that unless the ship was about to be blown to hell, I wasn’t getting within twenty feet of The Commander, Sir.”

Weston kept a straight face and managed to nod. “Very well. If you’ll inform Mr. Amherst that I would like to speak with him, I would be appreciative.”

“Aye Aye Captain!” The young man snapped a salute and beat a hasty retreat.

Weston watched him go with a mildly amused look. Amherst was just doing his job even it sounded like he’d been a little rougher than he had to be. If he felt that Steph needed more sleep, then Weston wasn’t going to argue with him on the subject.

Not until the attack was underway, at any rate.

Still, if Amherst wanted to play that game he was going to have to learn the consequences one had to suffer, as a good XO.

Weston smiled slightly turning his attention back to the refugee exodus.