'Of course,' he said with a sigh. Making tapes of the MPG units going through training rotations for the upcoming confrontation was a major part of what they had been tasked to do. Admittedly the greenies were taking to this with gusto. But one could only watch so many tiny infrared signatures of tank and armored cav units driving around the Martian wastelands before one was driven utterly batshit by it.
Warren was just about to unbuckle when Spacer Second Class Pebley, who was manning one of the tracking centers, suddenly spoke up. 'Captain,' he said slowly. 'I think there's something going on at the naval base.'
Warren looked at him in irritation. 'Something going on?' he asked. 'What do you mean?'
'Well,' Pebley said cautiously, his tone that of one who is not quite sure weather he believes what he is seeing or not, 'I'm getting what looks like maneuvering thruster activity from the docking area where the Owls are being stored.'
'Maneuvering thrusters?' Warren said, his fingers going to his own computer screen to call up the display that Pebley was looking at. 'Those greenies aren't playing with those Owls are they?'
'It looked like a test fire to me, sir,' Pebley said. 'Right in the high spectrum. Completely consistent with a chemical hydrogen burn.'
The display came to life before him. It was a wide-angle, infrared shot of the docking area of Triad Naval Base. Centered in the display were the three landing ships, which were dark and cold, just as they always had been. Near the upper corner was the area where the Owls were kept. The Owls could not be seen on the display, not directly anyway, since they were designed not to reflect heat, but the hole they created in the image against the warm backdrop of the docking area showed that they were there.
'Which one gave you the reading, Pebley?' Warren asked, seeing nothing amiss before him.
'Let me center it and zoom in,' he replied, his fingers manipulating his own screen now.
A moment later one of the Owls in the center of the parked ships grew larger and moved to the middle of the screen. No sooner had this happened than the bright white flare of heat showed from the fore end of it.
'There!' Pebley said. 'They're doing it again. I mark that as definite maneuvering thruster activity. They're really gunning it, sir for us to be able to pick it up this clearly.'
Warren nodded thoughtfully. 'Just like a test firing prior to deployment,' he said. 'What the hell do they think they're doing?'
'You don't suppose that they're going to try to take that thing out of dock do you?' asked Lovington, who had floated over and was hovering over Pebley's shoulder to watch.
'You wouldn't think so, would you?' Warren responded. 'Unless...'
'Unless what?' Lovington wanted to know.
'Maybe they're forcing one of the commanders they've captured to maneuver it for them.'
'They'd have to have the entire engineering and navigation crew in there as well,' Lovington said. 'I don't think that would work very well. There is no way that an entire Owl crew would voluntarily do that. And what would be the point of it anyway? All of the torpedoes were wiped when they took over the base. What good would putting an Owl out into space do them?'
'Maybe they think they can use the lasers as a point defense for our landing ships,' Warren suggested with a shrug.
'That's absurd,' said Lovington. 'Even the greenies would have to know that we'd send fighters to sweep our orbital path before we bring in the heavy ships. It would be a pointless suicide mission.'
'Nobody ever said greenies were smart,' countered Warren, half seriously.
'Green light on all exterior doors, Brett,' he said now, checking a panel on his display.
'Thanks, Sugi,' Brett said absently, looking at his own display board. He was now sitting in the captain's chair on the bridge, his restraints applied. He was careful not to let his voice show any of the anxiety that he felt. He was really about to try to take this ship out of dock with an understaffed, inexperienced crew. They were really going to try to fly towards the sun and attacked heavily armed WestHem vessels. Were they all mad?
He took a few deep breaths and then opened the ship's intercom system. 'All personnel, this is Ingram on the bridge. All stations report your readiness for zero gravity conditions.'
One by one the stations checked in. Engineering, navigation, weapons. All loose objects had reportedly been stowed and all of the men were sitting strapped into their chairs. The majority of them, at Brett's advice, had vomit bags with them since they would be undergoing the sensation of lightening for the first time.
'Let's do it then,' Brett told the intercom. 'Disconnecting from TNB's gravity generation system in five, four, three, two... one.' He pushed a button on his panel, shutting off the flow of current to the conduits in the ship's hull. In an instant everyone became weightless. Brett himself easily absorbed the sensation. He had been through it hundreds of times before. Others weren't so lucky. From all over the ship came the sound of people moaning and retching. On the bridge itself three of the six people deployed had to vomit.
'Let's all take a few minutes to get used to the sensation,' Brett said over the intercom, suppressing a sigh. 'It'll go away shortly but then you'll have to get used to the zero gravity conditions. That one takes a little longer.'
Little by little the ship seemed to settle down. Vomit bags were sealed and stowed. Foreheads were wiped clear of perspiration. Brett asked for another status check and received readiness reports from all stations once again.
'Okay, let's get this thing out of here then, shall we?' he said to the bridge crew. He turned to the young woman who had been chosen as the helmsperson. She was twenty-two years old and a previous ghetto inhabitant. She had scored remarkably high on her ASVAB, particularly the computer interface portion. 'Mandall,' he told her. 'I'm releasing the docking clamps.'
'Okay,' she said nervously, her fingers hovering above her panel.
With a push of a button on his own screen, Brett released the magnetic clamps that held them to the dock. There was no sound or motion associated with it, only a red light that appeared on the panel. 'We're free of the dock,' he said. 'Mandall, give us ten percent on the starboard thrusters and move us away.'
'Ten percent on the starboard thrusters,' she repeated, as she had been taught. She touched the screen in front of her.
On the outside of the ship the four maneuvering thrusters on that side of the ship flared to life, slowly pushing the
'Increase starboard thrusters to fifty percent,' Brett ordered when they were sixty meters away. 'Let's move out in the departure corridor.'
'Increasing starboard thrusters to fifty percent,' Mandall repeated, doing as she was told.
'Sir, they are definitely moving away from the dock,' reported Pebley. 'The aspect of the vessel is changing and I have what appears to be thruster activity on the side facing the docks.'
'Christ,' Warren said disgustedly as he watched the display screen. 'They're going to crash that thing into the naval base.'
'You suppose they're just playing around with it?' asked Lovington. 'Trying to see if they can move it from one place to another? After all, they might have some greenie that used to serve on the helm doing it for them.'
'Maybe,' Warren said, liking the way that sounded. 'Although I still can't imagine what good they think that'll do them. They can't break orbit without burning the fusion engine and I know goddamn well they don't have anyone who would know how to do that.'
'Should we make a report to CINCFARSP?'
Warren thought that one over for a moment. They had just sent one of their thrice-daily reports to Jupiter via an encrypted communication laser. The next one wasn't due for another six hours. 'Let's just wait until the next report goes out,' he finally answered. 'There's no sense in sending off a special report because they're playing games with one of our ships. We'll just keep our eye on them.'
'Understood,' Lovington replied.
'Sir?' said the navigation officer.
'What is it?'
