her to tear apart the best team she’d ever worked with. But that was often the price of excellence. As teams gelled, that kind of thing could and did happen. Excellence was balanced on a blade. Get arrogant, fall; get too intimate, fall.
Silence filled the cabin as time passed.
Marco called back, “We got ten minutes O.C.”
Five more minutes passed.
Stacy looked to the floor hatch where X worked. “X, where are you?”
No answer.
Damn it.
Kicking off, she drifted across the cabin. Coming over the hole, she looked down and saw X floating, his eyes closed, his index fingers touching his thumbs, legs crossed in a lotus, relaxed. The spool was loaded, and its green ‘armed’ light glowed.
“Go time X.”
His wide eyes opened and trained on her. As he unfolded his legs, she looked back to Horace and Adanna, who each gave her a thumbs up. She pulled a cord on her jumpsuit, deploying internal, Kevlar-wrapped airbags, which turned the soft fabric into articulated, air-cushioned body armor. “Activate your armor and get your helmets on.” Taking her helmet from the wall, she pulled it on. As each face disappeared behind a ruby-red visor and snub-nosed jaw plate, X rose up out of the hole.
Marco’s voice came through the earpieces in her helmet. “Five minutes.”
“Horace and Adanna, get yourselves strapped into the gunnery chairs.”
“Yes, O.C.,” they said in unison.
They moved amidships where two depressions in the floor held the gunnery seats. While they each faced blank walls, in their visors they would have a 280-degree view through the gunnery cameras.
“Marco, bring up a fifty percent ghost of the outer cameras on my optics.”
“Yes O.C.”
As she strapped herself into the command seat, mounted rear facing against the front bulkhead, the room flickered and dimmed. Now she could see, as if the ship were transparent, the Jovian system, the bright points of its moons, and the stars beyond. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Europa looming ahead, a disk of darkness in the stars with a thin blade of crescent light down the far side. She pressed the switch on her helmet to reduce the image of the ship’s interior, and the moon became more pronounced. To her left, the banded face of Jupiter felt far too close.
“X?”
He gave her a thumbs up from the rear gunnery seat. “Ready O.C.”
“Pulse-nukes Adanna?”
“Armed O.C.”
“Horace?”
“Check check O.C.”
“Marco?”
“Smooth as glass O.C. Two minutes.”
“One shot X.”
“On it O.C.” His tone suggested: with all due respect Zack, stuff it and let me do my job.
In a whisper, Marco said, “Mother of God.”
Stacy looked to Europa’s surface. Three claw marks scarred it, running away to the horizon, beyond which the alien ships still cut into the ice. She reached absently for the scar on her own face. Her gloved fingers thumped on her faceplate.
“Going dark in five, four, three… shit shit SHIT.” Marco said.
She quelled her inclination to ask what the problem was. She’d flown with Marco long enough to know when to let him be. Once it was go time, there were moments where each member’s expertise caused them to become the most important individual in the group. Right now was Marco’s time.
Beyond the crystalline outline of the ship, debris blurred by, now and again cracking off the armored hull. She saw what troubled Marco. A huge section of the base turned with a lazy rotation end-over-end directly ahead. One side was exterior metal, the other ceiling tiles. Now and again, chunks of wall stripped away with the rotation’s centripetal force.
“It’s just not my day,” Marco said as the Warthog shifted. The straps of her seat hauled on her shoulders, pulling her downward as blood pressurized her head with the negative G’s. When the ship clipped the end of the base section, her external view went to static. Her helmet’s speakers lashed out with a deafening hiss for a split second before the volume cut
Silence filled the cabin as time passed.
Marco called back, “We got ten minutes O.C.”
Five more minutes passed.
Stacy looked to the floor hatch where X worked. “X, where are you?”
No answer.
Damn it.
Kicking off, she drifted across the cabin. Coming over the hole, she looked down and saw X floating, his eyes closed, his index fingers touching his thumbs, legs crossed in a lotus, relaxed. The spool was loaded, and its green ‘armed’ light glowed.
“Go time X.”
His wide eyes opened and trained on her. As he unfolded his legs, she looked back to Horace and Adanna, who each gave her a thumbs up. She pulled a cord on her jumpsuit, deploying internal, Kevlar-wrapped airbags, which turned the soft fabric into articulated, air-cushioned body armor. “Activate your armor and get your helmets on.” Taking her helmet from the wall, she pulled it on. As each face disappeared behind a ruby-red visor and snub-nosed jaw plate, X rose up out of the hole.
Marco’s voice came through the earpieces in her helmet. “Five minutes.”
“Horace and Adanna, get yourselves strapped into the gunnery chairs.”
“Yes, O.C.,” they said in unison.
They moved amidships where two depressions in the floor held the gunnery seats. While they each faced blank walls, in their visors they would have a 280-degree view through the gunnery cameras.
“Marco, bring up a fifty percent ghost of the outer cameras on my optics.”
“Yes O.C.”
As she strapped herself into the command seat, mounted rear facing against the front bulkhead, the room flickered and dimmed. Now she could see, as if the ship were transparent, the Jovian system, the bright points of its moons, and the stars beyond. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Europa looming ahead, a disk of darkness in the stars with a thin blade of crescent light down the far side. She pressed the switch on her helmet to reduce the image of the ship’s interior, and the moon became more pronounced. To her left, the banded face of Jupiter felt far too close.
“X?”
He gave her a thumbs up from the rear gunnery seat. “Ready O.C.”
“Pulse-nukes Adanna?”
“Armed O.C.”
“Horace?”
“Check check O.C.”
“Marco?”
“Smooth as glass O.C. Two minutes.”
“One shot X.”
“On it O.C.” His tone suggested: with all due respect Zack, stuff it and let me do my job.
In a whisper, Marco said, “Mother of God.”
Stacy looked to Europa’s surface. Three claw marks scarred it, running away to the horizon, beyond which the alien ships still cut into the ice. She reached absently for the scar on her own face. Her gloved fingers thumped on her faceplate.
“Going dark in five, four, three… shit shit SHIT.” Marco said.
She quelled her inclination to ask what the problem was. She’d flown with Marco long enough to know when to let him be. Once it was go time, there were moments where each member’s expertise caused them to become the most important individual in the group. Right now was Marco’s time.
Beyond the crystalline outline of the ship, debris blurred by, now and again cracking off the armored hull. She saw what troubled Marco. A huge section of the base turned with a lazy rotation end-over-end directly ahead. One side was exterior metal, the other ceiling tiles. Now and again, chunks of wall stripped away with the rotation’s centripetal force.
“It’s just not my day,” Marco said as the Warthog shifted. The straps of her seat hauled on her shoulders, pulling her downward as blood pressurized her head with the negative G’s. When the ship clipped the end of the base section, her external view went to static. Her helmet’s speakers lashed out with a deafening hiss for a split second before the volume cut
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