“Bridge,
Engineering. You are green to Transit.”
“All stations prepare for Transit in ten minutes,” Aria
intones over the shipCom.
We’re ready but we use up the next ten minutes preparing for
potential catastrophes. Mack and I watch the status boards, Gorb moves around
the engines, his head on a swivel. The indicators show we have reached our
maximum acceleration. Of course we don’t feel it, but pressures are beginning
to build inside the Transit drives.
Eventually, Aria begins the countdown. “Transit in
three…two…one…Execute.”
I imagine it is like standing on the nose of a dragon when
it roars. Or sneezes. Transit engines are very powerful. They are also very
loud. Were it not for our helmets, the roar of the engines would certainly
have deafened all of us. And the concussive wave would have likely severely
damaged our ears, eyes and other soft tissue. As it is, I feel the concussion
against me like a physical assault, making my coveralls snap. I’m not sure why
that is. The drives don’t emit air. There’s no matter that travels from them.
It must be the noise wave. Night Searcher is now on a twenty-four day
trip to Saxon.
“And now?” Mack is on the private channel.
“Gorb, post Transit checks?” I call.
“I see no leaks, flares or fires. I see no dangling or
swinging cables. I see no light I cannot account for.”
“Thank you.”
Mack asks, “What do you see?”
My eyes dance over the status displays. Uronium reactor
outputs are within tolerance; engine temperature and pressures are nominal.
“Sir, my board is good. Engines are operating within standards.”
“Who needs to know that?”
I check the boards again then report to the bridge: “Bridge,
Engineering. Transit engines operating within normal parameters. No evident
problems.”
Aria replies. “Roger, Engineering.”
Now is when the boredom starts. Unless something breaks,
there’s not a whole lot for an engineer to do in the engine room once the ship
Transits. Which is—I’m sure—why I soon hear Aria say “Sonia, report to the
simulation room, deck E, at zero eight three zero. Mack will cover you in
Engineering.”
“Roger, Aria.” It must be weapons training time . Just
because there’s not much to do doesn’t mean there is nothing to do. We do have
some in-Transit checks we need to accomplish.
I’m preparing to plead that case when Mack tells me, “We
have this. Go to class.”
So I shut my mouth and leave.
The other two newbies, Twelia and Ricky, are here as well
as a man I don’t know who has a pushcart loaded down with weapons and other equipment.
We all say hi and chew the fat for a few minutes, mostly first day horror
stories. The equipment man silently checks the weapons on his cart. Aria
comes in and issues a short series of commands. It turns out the equipment man
is the ship’s armorer.
“Sonia gets the shotgun and forty SIM rounds. Twelia gets
the submachine gun, Richard gets the laser pistol with SIM pack.” He pushes the
anti-grav cart, handing us our assigned weapons and ammunition.
The SP-10 is a monster. It’s built around a 10 gauge shotgun
chassis. This one has a ten round magazine that mounts under the barrel.
Installed, the magazine is as long as the barrel. It will fire either
semi-automatic or in bursts of three rounds. There’s a fifty round drum
magazine available as well. I will need a shoulder strap to support its weight
when the drum is in use. But I don’t have to worry about that today. What
did I do to deserve this? This beast is surely to knock me flat on my backside.
Once we all have our gear, the armorer takes his cart and
leaves the room.
Aria speaks: “Clearly, none of you are foot soldiers,” I
guess I read Ricky wrong; he’s not even a backup infantryman, “so you won’t
be leading any assaults. But if the ship is boarded, every able hand is
expected to be holding a weapon.
Engineering. You are green to Transit.”
“All stations prepare for Transit in ten minutes,” Aria
intones over the shipCom.
We’re ready but we use up the next ten minutes preparing for
potential catastrophes. Mack and I watch the status boards, Gorb moves around
the engines, his head on a swivel. The indicators show we have reached our
maximum acceleration. Of course we don’t feel it, but pressures are beginning
to build inside the Transit drives.
Eventually, Aria begins the countdown. “Transit in
three…two…one…Execute.”
I imagine it is like standing on the nose of a dragon when
it roars. Or sneezes. Transit engines are very powerful. They are also very
loud. Were it not for our helmets, the roar of the engines would certainly
have deafened all of us. And the concussive wave would have likely severely
damaged our ears, eyes and other soft tissue. As it is, I feel the concussion
against me like a physical assault, making my coveralls snap. I’m not sure why
that is. The drives don’t emit air. There’s no matter that travels from them.
It must be the noise wave. Night Searcher is now on a twenty-four day
trip to Saxon.
“And now?” Mack is on the private channel.
“Gorb, post Transit checks?” I call.
“I see no leaks, flares or fires. I see no dangling or
swinging cables. I see no light I cannot account for.”
“Thank you.”
Mack asks, “What do you see?”
My eyes dance over the status displays. Uronium reactor
outputs are within tolerance; engine temperature and pressures are nominal.
“Sir, my board is good. Engines are operating within standards.”
“Who needs to know that?”
I check the boards again then report to the bridge: “Bridge,
Engineering. Transit engines operating within normal parameters. No evident
problems.”
Aria replies. “Roger, Engineering.”
Now is when the boredom starts. Unless something breaks,
there’s not a whole lot for an engineer to do in the engine room once the ship
Transits. Which is—I’m sure—why I soon hear Aria say “Sonia, report to the
simulation room, deck E, at zero eight three zero. Mack will cover you in
Engineering.”
“Roger, Aria.” It must be weapons training time . Just
because there’s not much to do doesn’t mean there is nothing to do. We do have
some in-Transit checks we need to accomplish.
I’m preparing to plead that case when Mack tells me, “We
have this. Go to class.”
So I shut my mouth and leave.
The other two newbies, Twelia and Ricky, are here as well
as a man I don’t know who has a pushcart loaded down with weapons and other equipment.
We all say hi and chew the fat for a few minutes, mostly first day horror
stories. The equipment man silently checks the weapons on his cart. Aria
comes in and issues a short series of commands. It turns out the equipment man
is the ship’s armorer.
“Sonia gets the shotgun and forty SIM rounds. Twelia gets
the submachine gun, Richard gets the laser pistol with SIM pack.” He pushes the
anti-grav cart, handing us our assigned weapons and ammunition.
The SP-10 is a monster. It’s built around a 10 gauge shotgun
chassis. This one has a ten round magazine that mounts under the barrel.
Installed, the magazine is as long as the barrel. It will fire either
semi-automatic or in bursts of three rounds. There’s a fifty round drum
magazine available as well. I will need a shoulder strap to support its weight
when the drum is in use. But I don’t have to worry about that today. What
did I do to deserve this? This beast is surely to knock me flat on my backside.
Once we all have our gear, the armorer takes his cart and
leaves the room.
Aria speaks: “Clearly, none of you are foot soldiers,” I
guess I read Ricky wrong; he’s not even a backup infantryman, “so you won’t
be leading any assaults. But if the ship is boarded, every able hand is
expected to be holding a weapon.
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