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letterbladeFirst of probably two parts for this scene. Time to introduce another chunk of people...
Also, with this section, I have broken my 10,000 word goal! Over 10,000 words written during Blogathon, not counting my actual posts! Because I'm crazy.
The Bridge of the Woglinde
The fierce colors that flare at the end of a hyperspace tunnel, gleaming in the wake of a gate-out, fade slowly from the tremendous sweep of the Woglinde's viewscreens. Captain Moriyama, keeping an eye on the gate-out status of the other ships in the fleet from his personal consoles, leans back and strokes his formidable mustache, mulling.
"Gate-out complete for all ships," reports one of his officers.
"Shifting main engine to stealth mode."
"Maintaining current speed until exiting this sector, as ordered."
"Next U.M.N. jump column available in seven hours, thirty-six minutes."
They're out of hyperspace now, cruising in real space, asteroids rolling slowly by. He surveys the bridge, checks on the personnel. From the captain's stand, a ramp up to the highest point on the bridge, he can get a good look at everybody. Standard bridge layout on this new ship, at least. The projection screens surround him floor to ceiling, all the way back to his peripheral vision. Secondary bridge personnel behind him and to the sides, on the lower levels, and they're just the people he wants on duty right now. The transparent plate of the tactical area out front, where you can walk with the stars beneath your feet, houses six consoles, so thick with read-outs that they're practically pods; that's where the chief navigation and recon officers sit.
Where the 100-Series Observational Realians should be sitting.
Instead, they're just humans. Good men and women, to be sure, fine officers, bright and eager. But the 117th fleet and the Woglinde had been scrambled out on this surreal deep-space mission before half the necessary equipment and personnel were even on board. Hell, the Woglinde herself was so new from Vector that they hadn't even filed off the corporate logos and marked her as a Federation Marine vessel yet. He had Hilbert amplifiers, sure, and A.G.W.S. by the dozen, but there's only so much an A.G.W.S. brigade can do without the Hilbert Effect active to make the damn things solid. And the Hilbert amplifiers are useless without their keys, the terminal units. The 100-Series.
There's just one 100-Series Realian, assigned at the last minute, and she's been so deathly quiet and shy, stammering over her sensor readouts, that he's beginning to think she's defective. Or for all he knows, she's as new as the Woglinde, rolled off Vector's assembly line so soon that she didn't know her head from her feet, a baby. Most of the crew are pretty green officers, especially for a deep-space mission. His second-in-command is a gruff but serviceable man who he's never even heard of before, and most of his orders have boiled down to playing taxi for research crews. Captain Moriyama's beginning to wonder who he'd pissed off to get this mission.
At least one of those research crews, the R&D group from Vector, is fine company. The KOS-MOS project is perhaps the most advanced anti-Gnosis weapon currently in development. Some comfort in this mess.
"We're nearly home," he says gently, but loud enough to be heard by his bridge full of nervous young folk. Worry all he may, calculate the odds and the oddities all he may, but he'll never let it on. Bad for morale. Especially with kids like these.
"Yes, Sir." The brusque, faintly accented voice of his first officer catches him by surprise; he hadn't realized Commander Cherenkov was on the bridge. The lean, hawk-faced Russian paces up to stand by him, bright blue eyes narrowed. "Our final gate jump is at the next column, and then we'll be back in civilized space."
"If we've made it this far, we'll be fine." That's one of the bridge lieutenants, a golden-haired young woman. "The odds of contact between columns is statistically low. And this asteroid field we're navigating through is perfect for hiding the fleet from them, Sir."
Cherenkov turns to her with a frown, and paces back down the ramp towards her. "So, Pollyanna here thinks that a few asteroids are going to protect us?"
"I--I'm sorry, Sir," she stammers, and slinks back to her station. Cherenkov can have a very withering glare--it's one of his useful traits as a first officer. Moriyama looks after her with sympathy, though.
"Bit testy today, Commander?" he asks Cherenkov mildly. "Is something wrong?"
"No." Cherenkov turns, looks like he's only a twitch of his muscles away from standing at attention. "Of course not."
"Ever since we picked up that object ten days ago, everybody's been a bit jumpy," says one of the other lieutenants. "And we still have a ways to go before we enter protected Federation space...I can sympathize with the Commander."
Cherenkov gives a faint harrumph.
This post is part of Letterblade's Blogathon 2010 madness, to raise money for Heifer Project International. Please go here to pledge your support.
Also, with this section, I have broken my 10,000 word goal! Over 10,000 words written during Blogathon, not counting my actual posts! Because I'm crazy.
The Bridge of the Woglinde
The fierce colors that flare at the end of a hyperspace tunnel, gleaming in the wake of a gate-out, fade slowly from the tremendous sweep of the Woglinde's viewscreens. Captain Moriyama, keeping an eye on the gate-out status of the other ships in the fleet from his personal consoles, leans back and strokes his formidable mustache, mulling.
"Gate-out complete for all ships," reports one of his officers.
"Shifting main engine to stealth mode."
"Maintaining current speed until exiting this sector, as ordered."
"Next U.M.N. jump column available in seven hours, thirty-six minutes."
They're out of hyperspace now, cruising in real space, asteroids rolling slowly by. He surveys the bridge, checks on the personnel. From the captain's stand, a ramp up to the highest point on the bridge, he can get a good look at everybody. Standard bridge layout on this new ship, at least. The projection screens surround him floor to ceiling, all the way back to his peripheral vision. Secondary bridge personnel behind him and to the sides, on the lower levels, and they're just the people he wants on duty right now. The transparent plate of the tactical area out front, where you can walk with the stars beneath your feet, houses six consoles, so thick with read-outs that they're practically pods; that's where the chief navigation and recon officers sit.
Where the 100-Series Observational Realians should be sitting.
Instead, they're just humans. Good men and women, to be sure, fine officers, bright and eager. But the 117th fleet and the Woglinde had been scrambled out on this surreal deep-space mission before half the necessary equipment and personnel were even on board. Hell, the Woglinde herself was so new from Vector that they hadn't even filed off the corporate logos and marked her as a Federation Marine vessel yet. He had Hilbert amplifiers, sure, and A.G.W.S. by the dozen, but there's only so much an A.G.W.S. brigade can do without the Hilbert Effect active to make the damn things solid. And the Hilbert amplifiers are useless without their keys, the terminal units. The 100-Series.
There's just one 100-Series Realian, assigned at the last minute, and she's been so deathly quiet and shy, stammering over her sensor readouts, that he's beginning to think she's defective. Or for all he knows, she's as new as the Woglinde, rolled off Vector's assembly line so soon that she didn't know her head from her feet, a baby. Most of the crew are pretty green officers, especially for a deep-space mission. His second-in-command is a gruff but serviceable man who he's never even heard of before, and most of his orders have boiled down to playing taxi for research crews. Captain Moriyama's beginning to wonder who he'd pissed off to get this mission.
At least one of those research crews, the R&D group from Vector, is fine company. The KOS-MOS project is perhaps the most advanced anti-Gnosis weapon currently in development. Some comfort in this mess.
"We're nearly home," he says gently, but loud enough to be heard by his bridge full of nervous young folk. Worry all he may, calculate the odds and the oddities all he may, but he'll never let it on. Bad for morale. Especially with kids like these.
"Yes, Sir." The brusque, faintly accented voice of his first officer catches him by surprise; he hadn't realized Commander Cherenkov was on the bridge. The lean, hawk-faced Russian paces up to stand by him, bright blue eyes narrowed. "Our final gate jump is at the next column, and then we'll be back in civilized space."
"If we've made it this far, we'll be fine." That's one of the bridge lieutenants, a golden-haired young woman. "The odds of contact between columns is statistically low. And this asteroid field we're navigating through is perfect for hiding the fleet from them, Sir."
Cherenkov turns to her with a frown, and paces back down the ramp towards her. "So, Pollyanna here thinks that a few asteroids are going to protect us?"
"I--I'm sorry, Sir," she stammers, and slinks back to her station. Cherenkov can have a very withering glare--it's one of his useful traits as a first officer. Moriyama looks after her with sympathy, though.
"Bit testy today, Commander?" he asks Cherenkov mildly. "Is something wrong?"
"No." Cherenkov turns, looks like he's only a twitch of his muscles away from standing at attention. "Of course not."
"Ever since we picked up that object ten days ago, everybody's been a bit jumpy," says one of the other lieutenants. "And we still have a ways to go before we enter protected Federation space...I can sympathize with the Commander."
Cherenkov gives a faint harrumph.
This post is part of Letterblade's Blogathon 2010 madness, to raise money for Heifer Project International. Please go here to pledge your support.
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no subject
Date: Aug. 1st, 2010 03:30 pm (UTC)