 |
|
|
|
I clicked my Zippo open as I waited for the coffee machine to finish. A brilliant flame slowly awoke with uneasiness from the grooved dials as I passed it under a Government Issue cigarette. They weren't fancy or anything like Russian cigars (Mr. Overuchesky sometimes got some sneaked in through the mail), but they did the trick. Smoke intricately drifted from the embers and I took a moment to admire the ghostly trails that strayed in air. The chef leaned over the counter with his white gloves and spatula. "Can I get you anything captain, a waffle, sausage, cereal, oatmeal, eggs?" Good food was a luxury that the destroyer Duspos did not have, so my cruiser smuggled extra crates of oatmeal, onions, and Tabasco onboard before we reached the platform for our 'first' stock up. When we are scheduled to rendezvous with the Terrans, those crates will be theirs. "Um, yeah, can I get a jelly waffle along with my coffee?" "Anything else?" "No thanks. And, uh, what's for dinner and what alcohol do we have left?" "There's going to be Alaskan Cod and the usual sides. "I want you to cook that fish with some beer, well pick some up at the platform." "Sure. Your coffee is ready." Walking through brightly lit corridors, I made my way to the bridge. A door whizzed shut behind me and the automated security door in front of me slowly opened. A young bridge guard named Fred snapped his boots together and saluted. "Good morning captain, ATTENTION ON DECK!" Everyone swung their heads back and looked awkwardly towards the entrance. "Good morning sir," they slowly called. "God, Fred. You really don't have to do that for me; all I ask for is basic respect and damm good listening skills from you people. But thanks crewman. You want a cigarette?" "Um, no thanks. My mom wouldn't want me smoking." Walking towards the front of the room, I extinguished my cigarette on the thick surface of my dark trench coat. I activated the onboard AI from a control board and watched a blue hologram materialize before me. "Hey there LattÈ, have a good sleep?" "Once again, I don't sleep. Oh, and you know what? A system coordinator from Fleet Headquarters came last night to change my serial number and name because some other stupid AI had the same name before I was created. He said it would cause to much confusion if I was LattÈ, so now I'm Gerr, serial number 91915." I had not realized that my easy nature had reduced the crew's discipline, even the AI's, so extremely low. My AI said "stupid". But I was not disappointed, a relaxed and bonded crew always operated better than strangers. "You know, Gerr, that's not such a bad name. I won't miss your old one; I've only met you and your name two days ago. At least you're not coffee." "Yeah, I'm not coffee." "Ok, then. How are we so far?" "Our ship is proceeding at 52 knots towards the platform, we will arrive in eighty seconds. The Aleksander has already broken off for Geneva." A communications officer tuned around in his seat to face me. "Sir, we are being hailed by the Exxon. Should we accept?" "Yes. Load it up." From a larger projector, a platform technician appeared with a headset. "Good morning Conclave, you are here for a scheduled load up." A young navigator snapped back, "Yeah, that's right." Several minutes later, a small cargo transport docked in the main hangar and crews of shipmen unloaded crates of food and racks of missiles. It exited after about twenty minutes and my cruiser docked at a platform bay. Here, remote controlled hoses locked onto ports on the starboard and replenished supplies of oxygen, several other gasses, nuclear fuel, and engineered water. The hoses snapped off and were reeled back after they finished. I faced the technician's image again and smiled. "Thanks for the goodies and beer. We're blastin' outa here and into battle so wish us luck." The projector's lenses shut and opened again as Gerr's image transferred from the smaller projector. "Gerr, make sure all valves are secure and that docking force fields are at maximum. Also get on the intercom and tell docking crew to load the torpedo hatches with concussion missiles. Get all designated personnel into their battery turrets. Have security on active duty and dim the lights for the jump." "Mr. Radi prepare us for jump to the rendezvous sector and start countdown in three minutes, I'm sure you can handle the coordinates. Help me supervise the navigators and make sure we don't stray off course. Mr. Overuchesky, supervise engineering to make sure the engine works properly throughout the jump. When you're done with that, get all the troops in lines near their dropships and give them some advice or a prayer, I don't know, anything. All you personnel on the bridge, do your jobs and if you need help, ask either Mr. Radi or myself. Private-, Fred, grab a seat, this could be shaky." |
|
 |
 |