The team already inside saw her approach through one of the thousands of tiny cameras embedded in the adaptive-camo skin on the hull. Indeed, it was easier to just think of the hull as one big, uninterrupted eye. Perfectly machined seams in the hull, grown really, cracked open as the two halves of the armored entry hatch swung out to invite her into the airlock.
Most shuttles featured small, two-person airlocks, large enough only for an EVA team to cycle in and out. But marine assault shuttles were very different. For vacuum-insertion mission profiles, their airlocks needed to accommodate up to an entire squad of a dozen armed marines in hardsuits so they could all deploy in one enraged wave.
As a result, Susan could lay down the narrow way in the airlock without her head or toes touching the bulkheads. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait for the air to cycle. As soon as the door behind her closed and locked, the lights went green and the inner door opened to reveal the commander of her marine detachment already kitted-out in medium, servo-assisted, vac-rated armor and a bullpup, over-under 6.5 mm rifle/20 mm grenade close quarters battle rifle hanging from her shoulder on a retractable sling.
“I just want to go on record as this being the stupidest—”
Susan waved her hand. “Yes, yes. I’ve gotten it both ends of this tunnel, Staff Sergeant.”
Sergeant Okuda blanched a little at the reprimand. “I wouldn’t let the grunts hear you phrase it exactly like that, mum.”
“I think they’d better behave themselves. This is a deadly serious operation.”
“Which is exactly why I’d feel better if you watched it unfold from the CIC.”
“No can do, Sarge. I’ve already given my word. Backing out now could spark a confrontation. I understand I’ve put you in a difficult position, but it is what it is.”
“Difficult? Oh no, mum. Marines love the chance to be a trip wire for a nuclear shootout between capital ships.”
“That’s the spirit. Let’s get underway.”
Susan took the front-row seat reserved for her in the shuttle’s passenger compartment. After being strapped into her crash harness by a copilot who’d missed her calling as a corset-tightener, Susan settled in for the flight over to the Chusexx. The distance between the ships had closed, but the Ansari needed to maintain a respectable buffer zone just in case their tracking and AMS systems needed to react if the Xre got desperate and started flinging missiles. Without main power, the Xre’s lasers and railguns would be inoperable. But missiles, once floated out of the tubes, carried their own reactant mass and power sources. They were an ever-present danger, even from a “dead” ship.
“Okay, ladies and grunts,” Okuda said into the compartment’s intercom. “As you all know, we’re headed into a whole hornet’s nest of bullshit. Our RoE are simple: You shoot first, I shoot you. If they shoot first and you fail to shoot back, I shoot you. Grunts, our priorities are as follows.” She held up three fingers and started counting down. “One, keep the captain alive. Two, keep the DC team alive. Three, avenge their deaths if we fail on priority one or two. And we won’t have long to do that, as Lieutenant Warner up in the CIC has her finger hovering over the button that will burn a hole through the bugs’ antimatter containment pods and reduce all of us into pure energy and elementary particles before any of you can shit your hardsuits.”
Okuda cleared her throat. “Damage Control Team, I’m sure you’ve already been briefed on this by your section chief, but it bears repeating. Even with your hazmat suits, we are entering an environment optimized for Xre physiology. Xre-adapted bacteria and viruses have never meshed with our biology, so you don’t have to worry about catching a space bug. However, the atmosphere will be almost forty percent oxygen, plus more carbon dioxide than we’re used to. Your respirators will filter out particulate, but the gas mix will breeze right through. Most of you won’t suffer any ill effects beyond a mild headache from the excess CO2, but some of you may experience symptoms of oxygen poisoning such as euphoria, twitching lips, vertigo, convulsions, and nausea. If you start to feel any of these symptoms, don’t ‘tough it out.’ Put your hand up and report it immediately and one of us will escort you back to the shuttle for recovery. Don’t be a hero. Heroes get dead. Clear?”
“What if one of you starts to feel it?” a random tech blurted out.
“We won’t,” Okuda answered. “One, because CCDF Marine Indoc and Basic weeds out those susceptible, and two, because our hardsuits regulate our atmospheres. Any other stupid questions?”
There were none.
“Excellent! Moving on. The captain has agreed to the Xre’s request not to venture where we aren’t welcome. So nobody wander off, and if you’re turned back by one of their crew from a place you weren’t supposed to be in the first place, don’t be an asshole about it. Clear?”
A general round of grunts and acknowledgments from those assembled confirmed that, as a practical matter, Okuda’s instructions were clear.
“Outstanding. We’ll be in the black for thirty minutes before we land in their bay and get to work. So relax, take a nap, pray, write a letter, whatever you need to do to get your heads right. Because when we cross that threshold, we’ll be stepping into a custom-fitted clusterfuck. Captain Kamala, want to add anything?”
Susan smirked. “Thank you, Sergeant, but I think you hit the high points quite eloquently.” Okuda was an excellent squad leader, equal parts mother and drill sergeant wrapped up in a package that was just as eager to kiss as kill. Susan was surprised she and Warner hadn’t hooked up yet. Maybe they had but preferred privacy. Whatever the case, it wasn’t her concern. The half hour passed in relative quiet as everyone dealt with the tension and
