Consciousness returned. As he opened his eyes, Higgs looked straight down. He flexed his fingers. Nodding, he looked around the room. The others were giving similarly relieved self-checks.
"Yes, yes, you're all fine." Ford looked away to check her display. "You can go whenever you want."
Stretching his neck, Higgs leisurely undid the straps and removed the cables from behind his ears. Standing up, he saw Rawlings approach.
The larger grey-skinned man looked at Higgs and the chair. He smirked. "Sorry for that." He leaned in. "From the footage I saw that was pretty good work. A bit flashy with using your wings like that."
"Nothing about Sue?" Higgs asked standing up.
Rawlings looked down. "Nah, that's just luck. You had a bit of bad luck, then some good. Hell, I know how that goes." He gestured at his own grey features.
"I should have kept better tabs on them. I've got the damn info piped right into my mind."
Watching the other pilots shuffle out of the dubbing room, Rawlings nodded. "Yeah you should have, but you are green. It takes time to get your instincts tuned up to your true capabilities."
Higgs crossed his arms.
"Look, that's not to tease you. You've got it. Otherwise you wouldn't be here. And I'm not talking about the knack. If you just had that you'd be testing mods and other tech in some nice N1 Inner colony base." Rawlings looked at the shorter man. "Nah, you've got it, you just need some seasoning... if you're lucky to live long enough."
"Thanks," Higgs dryly said.
"Don't mention it Rookie," Rawlings hit him on the shoulder. "And you better give your girlfriend a visit. Lab monkeys have been saying Sue's been real depressed since they updated the backup."
Higgs watched the smirking man leave.
"My, a fighter jock being a cocky bastard. Imagine that." Misako Takamori shook her head.
Higgs looked over to the unit's other female Pilot. "Coming from you? Wasn't Ice-Queen your old call-sign?"
"It was Yuki-Onna."
"So... Ice Princess?" Higgs asked, blinking through the database to lookup the term.
"Close enough, colony-boy." Captain Takamori laughed.
"Hey! That's my meat shield!" Morgan groused walking over to the two.
"Aren't we even for saving each other?" Higgs asked.
"That just makes you an effective shield."
Ford cleared her throat. "Captains, if you'll please. I need to clear out the room, and do some storage tests." The technician smiled brightly.
"Sure," Eying the Descended officer, Takamori backed out of the room.
"Misako's still pretty edgy." Higgs said, once he and Morgan were out of the dubbing room.
"Some people get that way about the alien spawn of eldritch horrors," Morgan said, after discretely glancing about the bare concrete corridor.
The walls had been painted a flat grey while the tile floors were an alternating white and grey with the occasional red tile inserted in a seemingly random pattern. Harsh florescent lights were set running along the corners where the walls met the ceiling. Shinny black doors were irregularly spaced down the hallway. Each with plain grey numbers on a plaque to the right of the doorframe.
One of the doors they passed was simply marked: Spares. It was a double set of doors and bore several heavy locks. Twin tracks had been worn into the tiles leading to the door, indicating heavy objects had been dollied into the room, repeatedly.
Morgan eyed the label. "Did you hear Corporate delayed the shipment?"
"Why do you care? Don't they have two Persephones in stock?" Higgs asked.
Morgan continued walking. "I do care about the rest of you."
"And you show it so well. Besides the stock's not that bad."
"We still don't have a full complement."
Higgs shrugged. "I think if we all get shot down, then having enough spares will be the least of our worries."
Morgan snorted. "Fool, that'll be the first concern."
"Eh, it's not like we have enough spare planes either. What'll the rest of us do?"
Passing through a guard station, the two pilots picked up their regular minders.
"Have a good dubbing, Sirs?" Agent Percy White asked falling into step just in front of Higgs and Morgan. Two more agents, in black and grey combat harnesses carrying slim carbines fell into place behind the Pilots. The sound of heavy pumps came from behind several of the doors.
"Just peachy," Morgan noted as they climbed a set of stairs. Hallway up the stairwell, they passed through a horizontal hatch mounted on several inches of steel bulkhead set into the concrete. Crossing the open seal they finished the climb.
Another bare corridor faced them. This one had a higher fraction of red tiles. After crossing the hallway and taking a second stairwell, they reached a corridor with windows. They were four inch thick blocks that heavily distorted the light coming through them, but they were windows.
"Such a cheery place to work," Percy noted, while his partner raised an eyebrow.
"I've had worse," Morgan shrugged. The hallway cam to a T junction. "Well, I've got some synchronization tests with my mods. And you..."
Higgs glared. "I've got my meeting with the commander."
"Yes," Morgan smiled. "Have fun." She walked off with two of the guards peeling off after her.
"Sure, sure," Higgs shook his head.
"You seem a bit stressed, Sir," Percy noted.
"Yes, I do."
"I see," Percy's voice trailed off, and he squared his shoulders.
Higgs looked over to see Victoria Fallbrook stride down the hallway. Director of the facility's Research and Development department, she was a willowy woman in an exquisitely tailored charcoal grey suit and matching skirt. Dark chestnut hair was pulled back in a tight French braid that ended just at her neck, accentuating sharp and hawkish features. Barely concealed by her coat, a glossy holster sat on her hip.
The rosewood gripped 1911 and dark red tooled-leather holster almost looked like an accessory to her black, crimson-trimmed blouse. The stretching and fit of the leather, the patina on the grips, and the wear on the safety lever indicated otherwise. She stopped and pale blue eyes locked onto Higgs. "Captain. My office. We need to talk," she stated her words crisp and clipped.
"Ma'am," Higgs bowed his head slightly. "Does this have to do with the commander?"
Careful to keep his hands out of his pockets, Higgs followed. They went up a flight of stairs to the level just below the control tower. When the flooring transitioned to thick blue carpeting he stopped.
Behind her a large window dominated the wall giving an unrestricted view of the airbase, the north side of Mooring, and beyond that the ocean. Two almost skeletal black chairs sat in front of the desk. Stealing a glance behind himself, Higgs crossed the room.
Before the desk, set in the middle of the room's carpeting was the Company logo. Twin inverted red triangles overlaid a vertical black bar capped by two horizontal bars while pair of grey semicircular arcs threaded over and under. They formed a stylized WIC for Willard Integrated Capabilities.
Centering her chair Victoria
Standing in front of her, Higgs raised an eyebrow.
To one side of the entrance door was a smaller oak table, surrounded by chairs. Still an antique, it was nowhere near the age of the desk. The other side bore a wet bar containing crystal decanters set on a long slab of glass built into the wall. Small lights set in the wood paneling illuminated the crystal ware in a riot of reflections and diffractions.
The other two walls had their own doors. One went to a small but full bathroom, while the other connected to a set of far less elaborate offices. It was from this door that Commander Hugo Furnas entered. The commanding officer of the corporate forces on New Carlisle was a lanky, sparse man with a pinched face and short grey hair. He had the highly preserved look that came with prolonged use of regeneratives, especially the early first generation ones.
"Ah Captain," Furnas gave a slight smile.
"Sir!" Higgs snapped off a salute, which Furnas returned. Now, the captain understood; if Director Fallbrook had asked him to sit, he should have had to have stood when the Commander had entered anyway.
"Well, now that that is over with," Victoria
Higgs took his chair.
"I presume you've got some questions," Commander Furnas asked. He walked around the side of the desk. "First I'd like to thank you for your performance."
"What about Sue, Sir?"
Furnas' expression turned a bit bitter. "The SurveyHawk's loss was unfortunate but that was not your decision."
"Sir?"
"The drone's actions were not your fault." Victoria
"Your trainers have been informed so expect some updates to your wargames."
Higgs nodded.
"We do have some fabulous news," Victoria
"It could have been a lot worse." Furnas admitted.
"Ma'am?" Higgs looked to Furnas. "Sir?"
"It just so turns out that you're a big fan of the fellow that's being sent our way." Her lips pressed tightly together, Victoria
"We'd like to know what your impression is," Furnas said.
"How badly is this little sneak gonna screw us?" Victoria
"Uh... who?" Higgs asked.
"Gabriel Norton. You should know him, I said we know you're a fan." Victoria
"Yes." Higgs was somewhat resigned. The Company made it a point to know as much about their employees as possible, especially the Pilots. "What do you want to know? I mean, you can run your own search on him."
"And we already have, but I want your impression." Victoria
"The Company does trust you with a quarter billion dollars worth of equipment and weapons," Furnas added.
"Sure," Higgs shrugged. "You want me to tell you now, write up an executive summary review or make a full report with samples of his work and history you can pass around."
"Wonderful. We'll take all three."
Higgs sighed slightly. "Yes, Ma'am."
"I knew we could train you fighter jocks." Victoria
"I was already invited to that."
"And I'm allowing you to go. Enjoy yourself."
***************
Leaning on the railing of the terminal building's roof, Capitan Bill Higgs watched the harbor. The natural cove had been extended by two wide piled-stone breakwaters. It was a massive collection of wharfs, cranes, warehouses and the other faculties required to make a major naval base and seaport. The smell of salt, jet fuel, fish, and bunker fuel tinged the hot-sticky air. The humidity was particularly bad this day, with the fat orange sun hovering lower in the sky.
Since he was not flying, he wore his grey Company uniform. His hair was a short buzz-cut. The slight tracery of grey under his skin, especially around the temples marked him as a Pilot. As did the pair of Company agents at his heel with body armor and IHR5 carbines a discrete distance away from him.
Cruising above the waves, an immense submarine approached. With a hull optimized for surface travel, the slightly worn boat measured a monstrous two hundred ten meters stem to stern and a wide-girthed forty meters across the beam.. Formerly idling, tugs approached the heaving sub and started nudging towards the harbor and past sleek grey patrol boats.
"Another day in paradise?" A redheaded woman shouted across the roof. Wearing the same uniform, she also had the identical grey subdermal tracery. After offering the guard at the door a cigarillo she walked to Higgs. They were only four stories up, and the Descended had a habit of using patios and roofs as ingress points.
"Sure, Morgan." Higgs laughed.
"Technically, New Carlisle is one of the nicer postings," Captain Morgan Graeme clarified. Despite the inclement air conditions, she easily lit the small cigar and puffed on it to get it burning.
Higgs nodded amiably. He did not mind, and hectoring her about her health would be obnoxious and pointless. "Got a great harbor."
"Beach isn't that bad, sand's a bit fine though."
"At least this time the Company Picnic is scheduled during summer."
"As opposed to last year when they put it during August. Which isn't even summer on all of Earth." Morgan shook her head..
Higgs laughed. "Right, right, and this place has everything you could ask for, as long as it'll fit in a cargo crate, and you can't beat Mooring's night life."
"At lot of stuff can fit in those things. For example-" Morgan held out her arm and swung it in a wide circle encompassing the entire city of Mooring
Charles S. Abbot Naval base dominated the harbor and the surrounding areas. It was a relatively compact facility, given the airbase, barracks, storage depots and the harbor itself. Though the limitations of the perimeter ward were a major factor.
Beyond the ward lay the gridded streets of Mooring proper. Most of the city was built out of surplus cargo containers, some of which were stacked four high. The nicer areas had been constructed using prefabricated houses that superficially resembled the containers or were built out of whole-cloth using locally quarried stone. Though their roofs were still made using sheet metal from those same cargo containers.
Further out, the various freehold's fields marched up the gentle slopes of Cooke Island's central ridges. Each farm had its own cluster of buildings, most of which used the same ubiquitous crates. Approaching the summit, the farms thinned out transitioning to bare scrubland. The few trees on the slopes had long been harvested for their wood.
A snaking road made its way to a small observatory that sat at the ridgeline. Two more roads ran parallel to the shoreline forming a T with Mooring at the intersection. Eventually the shore road would form a full circumnavigation of Cooke island, but that depended on the rate of settlement. Turning back to the harbor, Morgan exhaled and nodded with satisfaction. "I'm just happy to be posted somewhere where you don't have to suit up before going outside."
"Martins Ferry?" Higgs asked.
Morgan nodded. "Cold-ass place, worse than this hothouse.."
Higgs concealed a bit of a smile. He grew up with hot summers and was well used to it. "I'm sure that made your habit difficult."
"Nah, we requisitioned a little smoking room."
Higgs smirked. "They stationed Badgers there?"
"Sure," Morgan shrugged puffing on her cigarette. "They'll still fly."
"Join the Navy, see the worlds," Higgs stated, deadpan.
Morgan chuckled. "Oh yeah, nothing more thrilling than being on a survey boat. Damn tin cans."
"As you just pointed out. Those tin cans are why you're here."
"And my plane. I know they're important, but they're not everything." Hearing turbine engines at max power she turned and watched a slender-fuselaged plane scream down the runway and bob into the air. It was a light craft with twin engines at the tail and weapons racks held under the relatively wide wings.
Looking up at the markings she frowned. "They're getting their own aircraft."
Higgs eyes went to the taxiway at the end of the runway where two more planes were waiting to takeoff. Slightly smaller, these had no crew compartment nor cockpit, drones. He shrugged. "Maritime parole is the Navy's job. Let 'em babysit the Lock."
"And what if they decide to station their own Fifty-Sixes? Or maybe the Forty-Eights they managed to cram onto the Oregons?" Higgs asked.
"Then I suppose our contract will be up and we'll relocate to some other ass-end posting." She finished her smoke and crushed it under her boot. "Why'd you call me up here?"
"There's a couple things. Did you see anything new in the harbor?"
Morgan raised an eyebrow and did a quick scan. Submarines, mostly the sleek black hulls of fast attack boats dominated the wharfs. A large missile boat was in dry dock and a similarly sized pocket carrier tied against another pier.
A twin to the arriving cargo sub already sat under a pair of cranes. The grey submarine's top hatches were open, and the cranes pulled a steady supply of cargo containers out of the vast hold.
There was also a passenger liner. Lacking portholes, it resembled a smaller cargo freighter, which was an apt description. There were a handful of blue painted fishing boats; blue being the cheapest shade of paint in Mooring. The empty slots surrounding them indicated that most of the flotilla was out harvesting.
One ship did stand out. Its grey hull had a glassy shine, unlike the matte black of the military boat's acoustic tiles and the plain painted metal of the freighters. People in balk uniforms scurried about loading equipment and performing maintenance.
"Huh, we're a bit far from Descended waters." Morgan frowned at the Imperial navy Vessel.
"By five Locks."
"Know why they're here?"
Nope."
"Well, that was edifying." Morgan shook her head at the submarine. "The other reason better be good."
"We're getting an embed."
Morgan swore. "That's just what we need. How long are we going to have some reporter embedded in our unit?"
"Commander didn't tell me."
"Great, some bubble-headed snot who thinks that because he's got a Jefferson byline that he's some clout."
"Yes, exotic Armstrong City
"Oh? They didn't expect to see Galveston
"It certainly has the Texas
"What makes you think we won't get someone that expects this hole to be an exotic wonderland?"
"It won't be that bad," Higgs said mildly.
"Oh? The narrative rights itself. Evil corporation profits on war and exploitation of its workers. Oh, don't forget to toss in a dash of neo-luddite kant. People get twitchy enough about the Descended but at least they're a minority, a very pretty minority. We're just freaks who like money and killing." She fished out another cigarillo and lit it.
"It won't be that bad," Higgs repeated.
"And how do you know?"
"Commander Aldington told me who we're getting, Gabriel Norton."
"And?"
"Norton's former Army. He served in Argos
"Are you now? What's he think about people like us?"
"Corporate or modded?" Higgs shrugged. "Seems okay. None of that knee-jerk stuff."
"It'll still be a huge waste of time," Morgan grumbled.
"The Company wants good publicity, and Norton will at least be even handed."
"You're really batting for this guy? Got a crush?" Morgan teased.
"Nah, got a copy of his book. Bunch of collected reports from when he was out with the SAS in Euclid
Morgan took a drag and sighed. One did not get to become a Pilot without dedication. People knew about the dedication to win, the dedication to train, but most overlooked the dedication to learning. There were over half a dozen manuals for her personal systems alone. Then one had to add on the various updates and discussions.
As such, she read at least five hundred pages worth of text a day. "Sure, what's another book for the pile." Morgan relented. Blinking the activation pattern a heads up display that formed over her eyes. Moving the cursor, she and sent a call out for her reader.
Higgs answered and the file transferred.
"The Trail to Loreto?" Morgan asked reading the title. "He was there?"
"I told you, he was with the SAS on Euclid
No comments:
Post a Comment