Read Online Gray Panthers: Dixie by David Guenther - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Guenther
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heroes for our cause. Engage the FTL drive. All crew, assume your stations while we use the FTL.”
The ship’s crew and those in the shuttles felt the anticipated nausea during the transition to the FTL. Those in the shuttles prepared for the worst, having learned about the side effects of the drive. The effects stopped almost immediately.
General Black was relieved that the nausea was gone, but worried about what had gone wrong. “Georgia, this is General Black.”
“Go ahead, General Black. What can we do for you, sir?” the ship’s officer of the day asked.
“Why isn’t the FTL working? How long until we can re-engage the drive?”
“Sir, the FTL only has that effect for a minute or two. Then the drive synchronizes and the nausea goes away. The only time the FTL drive causes discomfort in space is if it is not correctly synchronized and tuned.”
“Thank you, Georgia, I’m looking forward to a more pleasant cramped five days. Black out.”
Arizona Space Ship Beater, near Gas Giant Rewards, Libra Alliance space
30 October 2128
Captain Johnson was getting irritable. Hiding in the asteroid field meant he had to keep the crew at high alert. The danger of one of the larger asteroids hitting the Beater was very real. Every few hours the crew could hear the collisions of the tinier asteroids bouncing off the hull. With the enemy being so close, the force fields couldn’t be used because it would give off too large of an energy signature. The alternative shielding, polarizing the hull, was working well.
“Beater, status report. Are you ready to upload the virus to the entertainment nodes yet?” Johnson rubbed his bloodshot eyes. The others on the flight deck looked almost as tired and anxious as he felt.
“Sir, the virus is ready, but there are variables I mentioned—”
“Launch the virus or whatever you need to do to deliver it, now! We can finally get the ball rolling. When we’ve determined that the ships are disabled, we’ll hop over, using the FTL drive. We’ll take out the tanker ships first. We’ll hit the one that is still loading first, and with luck it will take out part of the refinery. We’ll then target each of the tankers by their distance from us. Closest first, farthest one last. If any of the fleet manages to engage, we’ll break off our attack and use the FTL to depart the engagement. If their fleet is incapacitated, we will destroy them all.” Johnson tried to sound enthused as he outlined the plan, but the tiredness in his voice was hard to miss.
He reached into his pocket and took out a small, ornate box. The top showed the front of a small boat, with a cutlass crossed with a flintlock pistol behind it. He looked at the design as if for the first time, then glanced around the flight deck to ensure that no one was watching as he opened the box and quickly popped a tiny white capsule into his mouth. He washed it down with a swig of coffee in his cup that had gone cold.
Short Blade sat with the other chief petty officers. They were drinking more of the drink they called coffee, which Short Blade found disgusting, and using the time for what he figured was warrior bonding. Before them was a large communal bowl of popcorn, a food that had become one of the small Jacka’s favorites. He had found that almost every food from a group called dairy had a strong effect on him, and the butter in the popcorn was making him feel good, but he was careful not to eat too much. The chiefs around him had been telling war stories, and Short Blade was fascinated not only by their tales of humans killing each other—but also by the fact that the two in front of him had each done it for twenty years when they were younger. Both had been accepted into the Gray Panthers and were now physically in their twenties, although their faces still retained their chronological appearance.
“I’ll be glad when we get the hell out of here,” Chief Petty Officer James “Jimmy” Brewster said, taking a
The ship’s crew and those in the shuttles felt the anticipated nausea during the transition to the FTL. Those in the shuttles prepared for the worst, having learned about the side effects of the drive. The effects stopped almost immediately.
General Black was relieved that the nausea was gone, but worried about what had gone wrong. “Georgia, this is General Black.”
“Go ahead, General Black. What can we do for you, sir?” the ship’s officer of the day asked.
“Why isn’t the FTL working? How long until we can re-engage the drive?”
“Sir, the FTL only has that effect for a minute or two. Then the drive synchronizes and the nausea goes away. The only time the FTL drive causes discomfort in space is if it is not correctly synchronized and tuned.”
“Thank you, Georgia, I’m looking forward to a more pleasant cramped five days. Black out.”
Arizona Space Ship Beater, near Gas Giant Rewards, Libra Alliance space
30 October 2128
Captain Johnson was getting irritable. Hiding in the asteroid field meant he had to keep the crew at high alert. The danger of one of the larger asteroids hitting the Beater was very real. Every few hours the crew could hear the collisions of the tinier asteroids bouncing off the hull. With the enemy being so close, the force fields couldn’t be used because it would give off too large of an energy signature. The alternative shielding, polarizing the hull, was working well.
“Beater, status report. Are you ready to upload the virus to the entertainment nodes yet?” Johnson rubbed his bloodshot eyes. The others on the flight deck looked almost as tired and anxious as he felt.
“Sir, the virus is ready, but there are variables I mentioned—”
“Launch the virus or whatever you need to do to deliver it, now! We can finally get the ball rolling. When we’ve determined that the ships are disabled, we’ll hop over, using the FTL drive. We’ll take out the tanker ships first. We’ll hit the one that is still loading first, and with luck it will take out part of the refinery. We’ll then target each of the tankers by their distance from us. Closest first, farthest one last. If any of the fleet manages to engage, we’ll break off our attack and use the FTL to depart the engagement. If their fleet is incapacitated, we will destroy them all.” Johnson tried to sound enthused as he outlined the plan, but the tiredness in his voice was hard to miss.
He reached into his pocket and took out a small, ornate box. The top showed the front of a small boat, with a cutlass crossed with a flintlock pistol behind it. He looked at the design as if for the first time, then glanced around the flight deck to ensure that no one was watching as he opened the box and quickly popped a tiny white capsule into his mouth. He washed it down with a swig of coffee in his cup that had gone cold.
Short Blade sat with the other chief petty officers. They were drinking more of the drink they called coffee, which Short Blade found disgusting, and using the time for what he figured was warrior bonding. Before them was a large communal bowl of popcorn, a food that had become one of the small Jacka’s favorites. He had found that almost every food from a group called dairy had a strong effect on him, and the butter in the popcorn was making him feel good, but he was careful not to eat too much. The chiefs around him had been telling war stories, and Short Blade was fascinated not only by their tales of humans killing each other—but also by the fact that the two in front of him had each done it for twenty years when they were younger. Both had been accepted into the Gray Panthers and were now physically in their twenties, although their faces still retained their chronological appearance.
“I’ll be glad when we get the hell out of here,” Chief Petty Officer James “Jimmy” Brewster said, taking a
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