this deployment.
They way they were talking, he sometimes felt like he was being sent to the frontline of a warzone as a soldier or marine, rather than an on-going intelligence gathering operation way out past the frontiers of civilised space. At least there had been no mention of him learning to use powered battle armour, the heaviest protection used by the military for war. He’d learned enough during his time in the navy to know that mastering battle armour would take months, if not years to gain confidence in using it without putting a fist through a starship’s hull or leaping into the top floor of a skyscraper.
An ear piercing ‘whoop-whoop’ siren echoed through the berth, and then he heard the same voice come over the tannoy. “All hands, all hands, brace for scooping operations. Department Heads, standby at your DC station.”
The shudder in the hull began shortly after. First it was felt as a growing vibration, subtle and constant but managed by the inertial compensators to keep excessive g-force under control and maintain the standard one gravity environment aboard the ship. Within minutes, the first of the atmospheric turbulence hit the ship, either as it was passing through a high altitude storm cell, or influenced through the build-up of static charges and drawing a response from the Gas Giant’s weather patterns.
A loud crash echoed from down the corridor, and as his stomach plunged into his throat when they suddenly dropped hundreds or thousands of metres in bare seconds, he braced himself for a rough ride that seemed to be getting worse. With short, sharp tapping sounds like someone was hammering on the external bulkhead with little hammers, they dropped deeper into the atmosphere and fought against the colossal pressures trying to crush the hull as the scoops pulled in what would soon be filtered and refined into fuel. It was only for five or six minutes, but the shaking and vibration soon stopped and the ride became gentler, no different to a standard cruise in space.
Closing his eyes and realising he was biting his lips, he discovered how much he hated relying upon someone else flying a ship when he was strapped in the back and unable to see what was going on. For a pilot, there was nothing worse than relying on a stranger flying the craft and you no t being in control. Sighing to himself, he knew he’d have to relax and trust in the skills of whoever was flying the ship, to do otherwise would drive him mad.
With the hours flying past, he knew he should be studying but found this was one of those rare times where he could escape his routine for just a short time. He’d catch up on the reading once the refuelling had ended, but until then he had no choice but focus on surviving and practicing his meditation skills.
Almost six hours after starting the scooping operation, the ship finally pulled itself out of the mucky, multi-coloured atmosphere and headed for a high orbit. With the tanks topped up, they would spend the next day refining hydrogen from what had been scooped up and purifying it, until usable by the powerplant turbine and TEL Drive. By this time tomorrow, they would probably be back in TEL Space on the final stages of the voyage to Lexington.
Stifling a yawn, he reached for his comlink to open up the next manual he was tasked to study before he could be trusted to fly his new starship. To his disgust, it was applied theory of TEL Space physics and one of his most hated topics. It was why he had become a TAB pilot, so he wouldn’t have to learn more about engineering and drive physics, but here he was, forced to learn because his life would depend on understanding the theory.
When the siren began whooping again, he was expecting it to announce the refuelling and refining was over so the hands could stand down, but as the words were repeated a second time, he discovered he couldn’t have been further from the truth.
“All hands, this is the Captain speaking… we’re being
They way they were talking, he sometimes felt like he was being sent to the frontline of a warzone as a soldier or marine, rather than an on-going intelligence gathering operation way out past the frontiers of civilised space. At least there had been no mention of him learning to use powered battle armour, the heaviest protection used by the military for war. He’d learned enough during his time in the navy to know that mastering battle armour would take months, if not years to gain confidence in using it without putting a fist through a starship’s hull or leaping into the top floor of a skyscraper.
An ear piercing ‘whoop-whoop’ siren echoed through the berth, and then he heard the same voice come over the tannoy. “All hands, all hands, brace for scooping operations. Department Heads, standby at your DC station.”
The shudder in the hull began shortly after. First it was felt as a growing vibration, subtle and constant but managed by the inertial compensators to keep excessive g-force under control and maintain the standard one gravity environment aboard the ship. Within minutes, the first of the atmospheric turbulence hit the ship, either as it was passing through a high altitude storm cell, or influenced through the build-up of static charges and drawing a response from the Gas Giant’s weather patterns.
A loud crash echoed from down the corridor, and as his stomach plunged into his throat when they suddenly dropped hundreds or thousands of metres in bare seconds, he braced himself for a rough ride that seemed to be getting worse. With short, sharp tapping sounds like someone was hammering on the external bulkhead with little hammers, they dropped deeper into the atmosphere and fought against the colossal pressures trying to crush the hull as the scoops pulled in what would soon be filtered and refined into fuel. It was only for five or six minutes, but the shaking and vibration soon stopped and the ride became gentler, no different to a standard cruise in space.
Closing his eyes and realising he was biting his lips, he discovered how much he hated relying upon someone else flying a ship when he was strapped in the back and unable to see what was going on. For a pilot, there was nothing worse than relying on a stranger flying the craft and you no t being in control. Sighing to himself, he knew he’d have to relax and trust in the skills of whoever was flying the ship, to do otherwise would drive him mad.
With the hours flying past, he knew he should be studying but found this was one of those rare times where he could escape his routine for just a short time. He’d catch up on the reading once the refuelling had ended, but until then he had no choice but focus on surviving and practicing his meditation skills.
Almost six hours after starting the scooping operation, the ship finally pulled itself out of the mucky, multi-coloured atmosphere and headed for a high orbit. With the tanks topped up, they would spend the next day refining hydrogen from what had been scooped up and purifying it, until usable by the powerplant turbine and TEL Drive. By this time tomorrow, they would probably be back in TEL Space on the final stages of the voyage to Lexington.
Stifling a yawn, he reached for his comlink to open up the next manual he was tasked to study before he could be trusted to fly his new starship. To his disgust, it was applied theory of TEL Space physics and one of his most hated topics. It was why he had become a TAB pilot, so he wouldn’t have to learn more about engineering and drive physics, but here he was, forced to learn because his life would depend on understanding the theory.
When the siren began whooping again, he was expecting it to announce the refuelling and refining was over so the hands could stand down, but as the words were repeated a second time, he discovered he couldn’t have been further from the truth.
“All hands, this is the Captain speaking… we’re being
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