Tales from the Service: The Fear of Rookies

2953-08-13 – Tales from the Service: The Fear of Rookies 

Isha Nagarkar spent a few pleasurable minutes reminiscing about EVA jaunts with her father and his employees. She’d helped him pull valuable parts off hulls on the scrap-line from the age of eight until the day she’d departed for the Naval Academy. Her mother had kept an eye on them and the other employees from inside a utility runabout, ready to swoop in to grab an escaping component or a tumbling salvage worker in an instant. They were probably still at it, breaking up superannuated hulks for the few worthwhile components they contained, then sending the rest off to the smelters. 

Her suit’s HUD began winking an alert – her homing beacon had woken up and begun to broadcast, receiving a broadcast from one of Trafalgar’s recovery launches. It seemed too early still to be picked up, but perhaps the carrier’s officers had sensed disaster and launched the rescue units early in the action, so they’d be on scene sooner than normal. 

A few moments later, a flat-text message appeared on her HUD: “PICKUP ETA 01:05:15:00.” This, when she compared it to the chronometer on the other side of the display, turned out to be about ten minutes in the future. Isha sighed. Break time was almost over. Next time, she didn’t intend on having her ride shot out from under her so easily. Incarnation Coronachs were more nimble than she’d expected, but next time, she’d be ready. 

Isha turned back up her radio volume, only to find her gunners already talking. “... going to get us soon, Blackwood.” Rios was saying, frustration mixed with worry in his voice. “Calm down, take a deep breath.” 

“I’ll make it. I’ll make it.” Blackwood’s voice had gone up an octave. “Just a few minutes.” 

Isha turned on her microphone. “It’s just a bit of agoraphobia, Blackwood. You’ll be fine. The suit has a sedative dispenser, if you just-” 

Blackwood wasn’t listening, though. He started to ramble off, apparently to himself, about the various safety interlocks of his pressure-sealed flight suit, as if reminding himself that he was not dying.  

Isha, checking his suit’s status panel, assured herself that Blackwood wasn’t actually trying to meddle with the seals or the air system as he rambled on, then paid him no mind. He’d be out of commission for days after this, and it would be a miracle if he passed the psych eval to be re-certified for flight duty. The squadron would have to promote one of the reserve crew into his place, at least temporarily. 

“That recovery ship can’t get here soon enough.” Rios, evidently having muted Blackwood on his end, grumbled. 

“We’re all alive and nobody’s bleeding into his suit.” Isha reminded her colleague. “As rig losses go, it could be far worse.” 

“Aye.” Rios nearly snarled the word. “But I’d prefer to have lost a leg over Blackwood losing his mind.” 

Isha winced, and switched her radio to transmit only to Rios. “He’ll be fine after the medicos are done with him. But they’ll probably send him home.” 

Rios only grunted. Most likely he’d come to the same conclusion. 

The recovery launch arrived on scene almost a full minute ahead of schedule. Because of its angle of approach, Isha was the first to receive notice of her imminent pickup. That was far from ideal, but she didn’t complain. She could help Blackwood calm down – he was still babbling to nobody on an open channel – when he was picked up a minute or so later. 

A moving star grew in Isha’s view into a slate-gray box ablaze on all sides with light. At first, it approached worryingly fast, but it slowed down until it was about to pass her at only a few meters per second. A  web of hooked cables swung outward  on both sides of its rectangular hull. Isha used most of her suit thrusters’ remaining reaction mass to orient herself for the most comfortable pickup possible, then exhaled just as she’d been trained as the net caught her. 

Already, the launch was accelerating; Isha pulled herself along the net until she reached the airlock alcove, but waited there. “Rios, Blackwood, I’ve been picked up. See you both in a few.” 

Blackwood, fortunately, got his turn next. The gunner’s voice had petered out into a wordless, high pitched whining by this point, and he made no attempt to cooperate with his own recovery. The net caught him almost head-on, and as the launch accelerated, he twisted in it until he was hopelessly stuck. Only then did he begin to flail and thrash against it. Isha, with a groan, attached herself to one of the lifelines next to the airlock, then clambered out along the net to reach her. The recovery crew would probably prefer to leave him there until they’d made all their pickups, and she simply couldn’t allow that. 

“Blackwood. Calm down.” Isha tried to sound soothing as she approached him. “We’re in the recovery net. You’re safe.” 

His thrashing slowed somewhat. “It’s a bad dream, Nagarkar.” He whimpered. "Tell me it’s a bad dream.” 

“It isn’t.” Isha inched closer to him, trying to get within his helmet’s line of sight. “But it’s almost over. Let me help you get to the airlock.” 

Blackwood twisted feebly as if to comply, but by this time he was so tangled in the lines and so disoriented that he could hardly move. Isha hesitantly got within arm’s reach and started to uncoil him. 

While it is uncommon among lifelong spacers, agoraphobia is a real threat to the safety of Navy personnel of all stations, especially those assigned to strike operations. Normally, extensive testing to detect this tendency in all enlistees prevents any serious incidents, but in rare cases, combat stress can trigger the reaction that would not be present.  

Most likely, throwing rookies into deadly combat was an extreme stress for the individual in this account, and my quick research indicates that he was withdrawn from launch duties and reassigned to shipboard duties after recovering from this episode. 

Details

Tales from the Service: Alone on Lux Paradiso

2953-08-20 – Tales from the Service: Alone on Lux Paradiso 

The Navy raid on the Incarnation outpost of Lux Paradiso has met with rather tepid response on the datasphere, largely because the results of the raid seem to be minimal. Still, this represents the first Seventh Fleet attack on a world in Incarnation home space, and that should tell our readers something about the progress of the war on this front. 

In the lead up to this raid, at least one special Naval Intelligence operation was conducted to survey the defenses and targets of opportunity. Intelligence has seen fit to reveal something about one of these operations, a solitary infiltration across the open terrain which ran into a few unforeseen complications. Obviously, the name of the operative is not his actual name, and some other details have probably been altered to preserve his identity.

Jorgen Goddard slowly reached over his shoulder for the laser rifle slung there as a huge slug wormed its way down the bole of one of the nearby trees toward him. Perhaps “slug” and “trees” weren’t the right words, but Jorgen wasn’t a xenobiologist, so that didn’t bother him too much.  

Wary of the possibility that the creature didn’t need to reach him to hurt him – he'd seen the hunting method of the cone snail on his native Earth too many times to believe that – he brought the rifle to bear just as its body reached the spongy tangle of thready roots that passed for a forest floor on Lux Paradiso. He lined it up on a spot midway between the two stubby feelers protruding from the slug’s head, but held his ground – if the thing was a predator, even a primitive one, it would see his retreat as certainty of edibility. 

With a flatulent sound, the slug lowered its head toward the root-mat below its body and belched forth a rasping, conical appendage which might have been a proboscis. This sliced through the roots like a plasma torch through poly-sheeting, and the creature’s head followed it down. Within seconds, it was already disappearing below ground. 

Jorgen breathed a sigh of relief and lowered his rifle. Little was known about the ecology of this world, because it had never been surveyed or studied, at least by Confederated explorers. Lux Paradiso was at the edge of Incarnation home space, though for obvious reasons it was not one of their more populous colonies. The fast-growing jungle which covered much of its single continent reminded him quite a bit of the notorious Camp Cactus, which Jorgen had visited only once, as an invited observer of a Confederated Marine training exercise. The ecology would simply overwhelm any attempt at large scale agriculture. 

That didn’t completely stop Nate from using the place, though. Lux Paradiso sported a small civilian population mostly living in the hills far inland, supporting the supply needs of a sizable orbital infrastructure including at least two full scale military service docks. It was an unforgiving world, but as a super-habitable ecology located in a strategically located, mineral-rich a star system, neither Nate nor Seventh Fleet could simply ignore it. 

As Jorgen worked his way through dense undergrowth reminiscent of Earthly sponges and lichens grown large, his signal detector chirped. He threw himself flat, trusting the growths to hide him, just as a pair of small aircraft whistled overhead. They were going too fast to be looking for him or anything else on the ground, but Incarnation sensors were notoriously good; it paid to be careful. 

Jorgen had spent nearly a month in a tiny one-man spacecraft working his way into the system and then a week clambering through alien jungle because of rumors Naval Intelligence had gathered. If they proved true, there was more to the colony on Lux Paradiso than a mere food-mass plantation for the orbital infrastructure. 

Jorgen was of course briefed on the use of grown components in Incarnation spacecraft, of course; most probably, a few specialty components were being grown up there too, to save cargo space on haulers, but there was almost certainly not enough arable land up in the hills for more than that. 

Getting close without raising the alarm was worth taking time. Nate probably knew that their enemies had located the Lux Paradiso colony, given the orbital security Jorgen had seen on the way in. Doubtless the ground-side perimeter was stout as well, with multiple layers of defense. 

As he lay there waiting on the off chance the flyers circled back, Jorgen felt the tangled roots below his body shift, as if a wave had passed through them. He frowned, uncomprehending, and got up as far as his hands and knees to look around. Sure enough, a line of narrow waves was just bobbing the fronds of a nearby stand of plants. Nothing else moved. 

Jorgen stood up to watch the wave pattern disappear into the trees, but to his surprise he saw it curving around just beyond the underbrush and looping back on itself. He didn’t comprehend this at first, and stood still for a moment too long. 

When the realization hit him, he dove toward the bole of a mushroom-shaped tree, but it was too late. The ground at his feet erupted, and he stumbled into the fleshy maw of a giant slug-like creature. 

 

Details
  • You are here:  
  • Home
  • Beginning of Text Feed