there were four large holoprojectors that sat in the middle of several rows of thickly padded chairs. Most of the seats looked old and well worn but in good repair and they all reclined just enough to simulate cockpit seating. Pilots and wannabe pilots lounged there with simulation visors on, engaged in one of the many visual and tactile combat simulations available.
The four hologram projectors focused on the top pilots and tactical representations of whatever simulation was running. Three of the projectors were focused on squad play, where a pair of squads fought within a massive field of shifting, colliding asteroids and wrecked hulls. The other hologram projector focused on a ship to ship battle called The Battle For Manchester Port. It was a simulation made for a crew of thirty three who would man a large gunship named The Intrepid.
He'd participated as part of the eight man damage control team the simulation demanded before as one of two people aboard the digital vessel who was actually qualified enough to do the job in real life at the time and thanks to the high difficulty of the simulation they lasted only nine and a half minutes before the ship and all hands were lost.
All the simulations had been set to an increasing difficulty. As the crew became better at the scenarios, running the in-sim systems were becoming more and more like doing the real thing. Some of the deck and engineering crew had already started putting in requests to perform qualifiers as pilots and out of over a dozen applicants who had completed the qualifier, only one had passed.
Finn was glad it was hard. He'd done a shift on the flight deck and assisted the repair crews there. When a pilot who had been trained mostly in a simulator returned from their patrol you could always tell. The fighters were hardy, difficult to damage, but a pilot with few real flight hours always landed too hard or took too long to make a vertical landing and often left the cockpit without resetting the controls to their defaults. Everything was logged and whoever was running the Space Superiority Group at the time would often have a very long chat with the new pilots daily and that was often accompanied by a basic tutorial on how to care for their fighters. He had seen one administered by Alice and in the course of the tutorial an impatient pilot was grounded because of his know-it-all attitude. She didn't have any patience for people who weren't willing to learn, nor should she. A bad pilot could kill not only himself but many members of the crew with just one moment of negligence or poor judgement. Watching her inform the pilot that he was no longer welcome in a cockpit until he re-qualified then sending him to report for maintenance duty was like watching Captain Valance put someone in their place. The similarities between the two could be eerie at times.
Finn had no desire to be a pilot, however. The hangar deck was a place he'd volunteer occasionally. Not to do any seriously detailed work, he'd need more training for that, but to do knuckle dragger's work until he was trained on servicing the fighters. To him, the hangars were the most exciting places on the ship. Too exhausting to transfer there permanently, and he enjoyed his work in ship engineering as well as representing the engineering department on the bridge, but helping in the hangar deck was a great place for a change of pace.
He was glad to know his place on the ship. Chief Grady often assigned him to represent the Engineering Department on the bridge because he was forming a solid understanding of the ships systems very quickly, and when there was something new or interesting taking place he was always involved somehow. Learning about the Sol System Vessel was exciting; all that high technology was beyond anything he'd seen and under the direction of Liam Grady the Engineering Staff worked exceedingly well together. There was still some personal drama but that was to be expected in any large crew.
Of all the things he was happy to avoid, the gunnery deck was certainly at the top of his list. If Chief Grady ordered him to assist there he wouldn't refuse, but serving on the most dangerous and accident likely section of the ship sent a shiver down his spine. Being under the command of Gunnery Chief Frost would be no picnic either, he was certain. He had the reputation of being the most harsh, unforgiving commander on the ship. Someone quit his staff every day, and most of them wound up as a knuckle draggers in the hangars or assigned to an unspecialised maintenance team if they were qualified. The non-specialists, the lowest of the maintenance workers took care of the dirty work; everything from cleaning out sewage recyclers to pulling cable through crawl spaces when the bots were down and since all artificial intelligences had been deleted most of them were. It was a respectable occupation, but at the bottom of the pecking order.
He'd rather do that than serve on the gunnery deck, however, but considering the condition of the Gunnery Chief when he walked into the Pilot's Den he wouldn't mind being a fly on the wall the next morning. Just after a few seconds Finn could tell that Frost was in for an epic hangover the next day, and being a man of pride, the Gunnery Chief probably wouldn't go to medical to request a recovery treatment.
Walking up to the bar slowly he listened in on the conversation Frost was having with the tall civilian bartender who was trying desperately not to encourage the slurring man without being rude. “-cocked it all up! Burke, tha' buggerer, got wha' he deserved, freezin' like tha', you shoulda seen it. Thought he was me friend, eight years on we served different Captains, made one score afta 'nother then he takes it all! Some mate he was!”
Finn had heard the story already, about Frost dragging Burke off and torturing him until security caught up. The word was Burke lost his nose, a foot, several toes and fingers and swathes of skin to frostbite, something that was obviously planned to not only get something out of Burke, but to enhance Frost's already dark reputation and the tenacity of his nickname.
It would be hard for anyone to ignore that story when they called him Chief Frost or just Frost. “Lexin Dark Blue, please.” Finn ordered as he stopped to stand several stools away from Frost at the bar.
The server ordered his drink from a materializer set into the wall and passed the tall glass filled with dark blue fluid to him. His records automatically reflected the purchase and its impact on his rations.
“Here's a friendly one!” Frost exclaimed as he near stumbled out of his stool and staggered over to sit beside Finn. He patted the younger fellow on the shoulder so hard he was forced to sit down. “Served with me on the Samson, this one did. Tha' was afore Captain took this overlarge boat on with all it's comers.”
“Hi Frost, having a good night?” Finn regretted the words as soon as they slipped off his tongue.
He finished the remainder of his drink, an ounce of amber fluid in the bottom of a stout glass made for large pieces of ice and hard liquor and pounded it back down onto the bar. “No! Steph's left! Cap'n gonna put me off my post tomorrow.” Shamus waveringly pointed at his glass and regarded the slim bartender, who looked back at him witheringly. “More scotch!”
“You're well over your rations sir.”
He raised his command and control unit and ham handedly brought up a display showing his ration status was green, showing over three times the regular usage for the night, but still green. “Y'see here? Ration's good, more scotch!”
“Well, I'm saying you've had enough sir. See? Your friend here has come to take you to your quarters,” the barkeep said, gesturing towards Finn.
“Steph'nie sent ya?” Frost asked as he looked over to him.
Finn had a split second to consider his response and shrugged. “Yup, she heard you were down here and wanted me to help you up to your quarters.”
“Dunna need yer help lad, I'm fine!”
The bartender smirked and reached across the bar, giving one of Shamus's shoulders a firm push.
Frost was well on his way to toppling over and hitting the floor when Finn caught the heavier man and was almost dragged off his stool himself.
Price helped balance him as he walked up behind the pair and quietly said; “It's been a long day.”
Something passed between the pair, the look Agameg gave him communicated something subtly, and the drunken Gunnery Chief got it. Finn chalked it up to respect or familiarity, but Frost actually listened to him and after a moment of looking into the changeling's large eyes he nodded. “Aye, time ta move on afore I find somethin' else ta bugger up.”
Shamus turned away from his stool and staggered to his feet. Price got under one of his arms and as Finn took up on the other side Frost looked over his shoulder to the barkeep and asked; “Bottle 'fer the road?”
The slim faced barkeep laughed to himself and walked away, shaking his head.
The trip through the bar and to the express car that took them to the command deck and Frost's quarters was fraught with comments about how Frost “managed to cock up a chance at real service,” “get cheated outta every penny, an' piss on 'is friends gettin' it back” he even exclaimed; “only true mates! Bloody shifter who can't do humans an' th' engineer who got wi' the first girl he fancied on th' Samson.”
When they finally arrived on the command deck and the express car doors opened Frost greeted the crew
