The large, flat screen slowly lit up as the image came into focus. A massive shadow that had been obscuring the field of stars behind it morphed into a familiar shape. Roughly circular, with jagged edges painted on a darker substrate. The center, once dim, was now visible, showing it's beige coloring.
"Ottis is stabilised", mouthed the young man with a rigour ingrained into his every fibre by his days at the Academy.
"Deploying survey USV's."
"Data stream has been resumed. Background radiation at nominal value." supplied the young woman a few meters next to him.
Hey, Clara. How has your day been?...Wanna go out for a drink later?... Damn, I hate these shifts.. The pilot shuffled in his chair. No one ever died of daydreaming.
"System status?", inquired a voice behind them with no small amount of authority.
"Readings incoming. So far all systems nominal" reported a third voice in the dim room, somewhere behind and to his right.
"Initiate scanning pattern on the USV's. Is the observational data compiled?"
"Affirmative, Sir. Video, infrared and radiation telemetry received and transmitted. Seismic data transmission pending full systems diagnostics."
"Roger. Proceed with scan".
That's our cue.
He moved his hand above the screen, with the image shifting from the right hand corner, revealing a table of items. There were eight in number on the first column, which were the designations of the USV's. With a flick of his hand, he activated the craft's first person view. Seems in order. He knew the video equipment was fragile and being banged up from the impact could do a number in it. Activating the food lights made the blackish surface beneath a little less blackish, though the light got lost in the immensity of the space ahead of it.
Right, let's see what shape you're in.
His hand moved and pressed one of the symbols on the vertical chart, a pictogram of a wrench and nut. A menu appeared, from which he selected the first option "General OST". A self test of every system of the USV. By the book we roll. Hope you didn't get too banged up, old girl. About 30 seconds to go.
His eyes shifted along the dimly lit chamber. It was roughly twenty meters across, of a hexagonal shape, with the large wall to his left and back being the large side.To his left two lads of similar age were looking intently into their monitors, though he knew they were just awaiting orders at the moment. Lee and Paul always get the easy gigs...
He sighed. I guess that's what being more experienced gets you. He knew he didn't outrank them, but this was his twelfth weapons test, and only their fourth.
His mind briefly flew to his upcoming trip home. Shore leave is certainly welcome. Long lengths of time doing nothing are just as bad as being worked like a mule. I should know. I've been in both circumstances.
He's always though of his posting as being superfluous. This is a space station, not a ship. Helmsmen are not needed. Then again, this base seems to have everything. Scientist, mechanics, engineers, marines, doctors, you name it.
Not a day went by that he wasn't stunned and awed by the scale of this undertaking. He had remarked on that right from the day he arrived here, though his initial enthusiasm had faded somewhat.
Stars's End, he though. The Area 51 of the colonial age.
His gaze shifted slightly to his right. Prashtan, his assigned dancing partner, was looking over his controls, most likely emulating his actions. You may look fresh and sharp as always, but you can't fool me. Let's see who buys who a cup of coffee.
A small chime announced him that the self diagnostics was completed. The list of items was all green, as expected. They really build these things sturdy, don't they?...
"USV 4 online. Requesting permission to undock", he announced with his hand over another item in his vertical menu.
"USV 7 online. Requesting permission to undock" announced the colleague to his right.
"Permission granted. Head to waypoint and assume starting position" responded the husky voice of the XO behind him.
He tapped the item, and the image jerked forward, slowly moving ahead.
"USV 4 undocked. Proceeding to waypoint", he announced.
With daft hands, Daniels tapped his screen, with the vertical menu appearing once again. This time he chose the "Pattern option", showing a list of waypoints that only contained one item. He clicked it, and the image showed a ever so slight jerk that only a trained eye could sense, as the unmanned craft slid towards a designated point hovering in the distance.
150 meters. 30 seconds travel time. The electrothermal thrusters, inefficient as they were, still delivered plenty of thrust. Cheap and effective.
"Captain on deck!" bellowed the XO, quite a few decibels higher than anyone expected.
Crap. The young pilot swiveled in his chair and stood at attention saluting. Which was all he could do, since turning from his comparatively bright monitor to face the darkened room rendered him nearly blind. He could still make out the silhouette of commodore Constantine Andrews as he walked briskly into his command chair.
"At ease. Proceed as you were." he said in his slightly formal yet cordial fashion.
The pilot slowly sat back into his chair. Usually he'd be allowed to be seated while piloting, but the USV was mostly doing it's thing, and the XO was a sticker for formalities.
"Test status?" he could hear the commondore asking.
"Firing completed. OTT has been successfully hit and then stabilised in a high orbit. Rotational vector compensated." he heard the XO reporting, referring to the maneuver that he had made earlier to eliminate the test target's rotational vectors.It's still moving away, but negating it's outbound vector and bringing it in would take longer.
"Radiation, infrared and long-range radar data has been compiled and sent. Short range examination is pending" finished the XO.
"Any spalling?"
"No large debris detected. Minimal fallout". He knew that even relatively small pieces of debris that came off the Ottis would be intercepted. That's what the gunnery officers that were located to his left beyond Pavel and Lee were there for, along with their counterparts on the symmetrical side of the room.
"Stellar weather reports?"
"No abnormal activity. The star has been quiet. Last reported flare was 46 hours ago" the astrogator replied.
A flare star. Not exactly prime real estate. A small red dwarf with a horrendous temper and low metallicity, surrounded by nothing more than an asteroid belt, closely packed into an area roughly four times the size of the Jovian system. A blip on cosmic maps...but a prime candidate for a discrete installation.
He'd been briefed on the specifics of the system itself during his first orientation. A file marked "Top Secret" identified this star as Van Biesbroeck's star, an ultracool red dwarf. The system was two jumps off the nearest space lane, and did not even contain an active navigational buoy. There were two jump points, one leading to the busy lanes between Sol and the colonies on Eridani, and the other leading into deep space.
Right on the edge of human settlement, which meant no chance of a ship accidentally stumbling in here. Even if they did, chances are all they'd see is a mostly empty system.
"Defensive emplacements, report."
"HLS turret 1 reporting. Systems ok" reported gunnery officer Hartman to his right.
"HLS turret 2 reporting. Systems ok" echoed her counterpart on the other side of the room.
"HMD turret reporting. Systems ok". Hartman's colleague, a freshman out of the academy.
"TWE reporting. Magnetic anomalies detected during firing. Systems nominal, but several hot spots have appeared again following the shot."
The Mjolnir. This was the experimental emplacement that shot whatever was being tested. A giant truss structure that, for the moment, contained the experimental particle beam that was fast becoming standard on colonial battlecruisers. Calling it a turret would be impossible. It couldn't move side to side or up and down. Ottis was maneuvered in front of it for firing.
"Is the report being drawn up?" asked the commodore.
"Report is completed and already delivered to research team" announced a calm voice that made the Ensign feel uneasy.
APOLLO. The VI equipped supercomputer that ran things on the base had access to everything but the functions on this bridge, which contained their own command and control independent of the rest of the base. He knew it helped immensely with the research efforts, but having a VI installed on it still gave him the creeps. He could tell the voice wasn't human. It had none of the emotional inflections that characterised human speakers though. One of the technicians had whispered to him during a lunch break that APOLLO wasn't really sentient, but more of a personal assistant on steroids.Apparently, not even a very sophisticated one, more along the lines of a user interface that one operated by asking rather than hitting keys. The thought did little to relieve his uneasiness. I don't like my console talking to me.
"Ensigns Daniels and Ramachandran, what's the ETA on starting the examination?" continued the commodore.
On cue. "USV 04. 50 meters to waypoint. ETA 1 minute".
"USV 07. 60 meters to waypoint. ETA 72 seconds", Prashtan chimed.
"Once examination begins, I want the image compiled on my screen before it gets sent."
"Roger" said the pilot.
The commodore was shrouded in darkness, the contour of his face barely visible from the light on the monitor he had just lit up. The few wrinkles on his face looked like deep gashes from some sort of sword fight.
He knew the commodore wanted to see every bit of the operations as they were underway. Even the relatively slow process of close examination was patiently followed through its' course. Wonder if he's a control freak or just really impatient.
He's been wondering that ever since setting foot on the outpost. He had expected some grizzled old admiral to be in command, and during the first operational briefing and orientation, he had mistaken the XO for the commanding officer. No small wonder, given his commanding presence and years. But thankfully he had realised his mistake before having the chance to voice it out loud.
Commodore...that's not even right. With a facility this size, he should, by all rights, be either a Rear Admiral, or a Port Admiral, not a fleet commander. There isn't even a fleet to command.
His young age had caught him off guard. Such high positions were generally reserved for older staff, while he was in his late thirties or early forties. He had wondered why this was the case. The low-ranking rumor mill was that favoritism was about. Daniels himself had high doubts this was the case, given the professionalism and responsibilities of the TCA.
I just can't wrap my head around it... Someone being treated with such high regards as to be put in command of this place while older, more experienced and well versed admirals and generals are left in desk jobs. Then again, none of those dudes have actual COMBAT experience.
Another rumor was that the commodore was some kind of genius tactician. But what good is that when you're commanding a static installation? He hadn't even heard of a commodore Andrews back in his academy days, and someone of this status and with such high rank would have been mentioned somewhere. But no, the man was a ghost by all accounts.
The XO was another oddball, even crazier this time. A Marine colonel acting as First Officer? No wonder he tends to bark his orders.
First Officer Arnold Hauser was older by at least a decade compared to his commanding officer, and was apparently a somewhat better known figure, at least among the star strutters. He had apparently participated in boarding actions taken against uncooperative vessels during the Aldean crysis. It sort of made more sense when he realised that a lot of the security personnel were marines, but still it was extraordinarily unusual for a Marine, even high ranking, to have the training of a sailor.
Another chime sounded in his earpiece, signifying the arrival of the USV at the designated waypoint. He swivelled the small vehicle, doing a 180 degree somersault, turning it's cameras toward the lip of the large structure he had just skimmed across.
"USV 04 reporting. Waypoint reached" he announced. "Proceeding to starting position on T-085".
"USV 07 reporting. Waypoint reached" reported his partner. "Proceeding to starting position on T-103".
The USV, under his careful hand, slowly moved upwards, crossing a distance of some ten meters of blackish metal, with the final three being the orange coloured material he had seen earlier. Ceramics. Lots of it.
The surface of the test target revealed itself, along with another virtual waypoint that he instructed the ship to proceed to. The large structure was bright on this side, with some discoloration in the distance. This close, the hexagonal tiles that made up the impact surface were clearly visible. The waypoint was situated squarely above the closest one,marked with a the number one and this time it wasn't alone. A forest of them were hovering on the virtual display, each situated squarely above their respective tiles and each numbered. On the far side of the large hexagonal surface, he saw the shape of the other USV hovering above the surface, it's position marked with a virtual black and white circle. It was slowly proceeding to it's own waypoint.
Flying by waypoint is about as exciting as watching algae grow. There was no need to manually fly the ships, since the pattern of virtual navigational markers was already pre-programmed into their systems. My job here is to monitor them and unscrew anything they screw up.Unfortunately, they apparently never screw up...
The small craft slowly maneuvered into position.
"USV 04 entering starting position. " he announced, as the ship reoriented itself facing the tile underneath.
"USV 07 entering starting position" Prashtan echoed to his side.10 seconds late, mate. Guess you'll be buying coffee today.
"Proceed with examination" announced the skipper.
"07, examination pattern initiated" he announced. In reality, all he had to do was select the pattern, and the ship started moving along a path from waypoint to waypoint, with it's cameras pointing downwards. The images were sharp, high resolution, and he knew there was a modular penetrating radar situated in the instrument boom to beneath the camera module.
"04, examination pattern initiated", reported the pilot to his right in his usual Midlands accent. Prashtan Ramachandran was about his age, and grew up in an overcrowded suburb of Birmingham. They knew each other from their academy days, having just about as much time on the base as he did, and was a very good pilot in his own right.
All of them are. Pretty wasteful posting. He knew that piloting the USV's was more or less meant to keep them sharp. They were there primarily to pilot the OTT and the four craft docked in the hangar. A Hayes, a tug and two shuttles. Such glamour.... Least the Hayes has guns on it. In theory it was meant to intercept any ship that arrived unannounced and started scanning for the base. Police frigates routinely patrolled the fringes of human space, so the presence of one in an otherwise empty system was not unusual. Though there's reason for any commercial traffic to come here. This system leads nowhere. In theory it doesn't even have a navigational buoy. No one comes here unless they want to do shady business or know what to look for. It had never once happened.
As the ships shifted position, they sent their images to the command center. A collage of the surface of Ottis was beginning to form. This was the visual image, and he knew there were also radar images alongside infrared and seismic charts. All would be compiled and sent to the gun nuts downstairs. No detail spared.
The commodore was still sunken in his chair, First Officer Hauser to his right, observing his own console. From time to time the commodore would point out something on his screen, and the XO would speak in a hushed tone. Whatever they were speaking about was drowned by the buzz of the equipment, but seemed to be of no concern to the matter at hand.
"Any word on when the engine tests are to begin?" asked the commodore. His question seemed directed at the XO.
"ETA is 4 hours, but subject to change. Team reports problems with cooling equipment. You'll have to ask them yourself, Sir."
"Understood, Lieutenant. Keep me posted on any changes in that regard. Any system traffic?"
"None since the "Shiraki" jumped out four days ago".
The "Shiraki" was their tender. And, like many things about this base, it was also strange. Instead of being a military transport, it was a civilian vessel. And not just any old rust bucket.
A Crusher. Fast, angry, sturdily built ships once operated by the competing colonial interests.
These ships are half the reason the TCA operates anything above destroyer level. Wonder who they confiscated it from.
Seeing it still made him uneasy. These were opponents in many of the simulations done at the academy. Though I guess that was before ET decided to phone home and bring over his friends. It was still a very clever set up. A commercial ship would have less attention drawn to it than a military "L'Amour" class transport. And it was still fast, even if unarmed.
The ship would come in once every two weeks, bringing supplies and transporting people on and off the base.
Next time, it's gonna be me on board that thing. He could feel the excitement and relief swelling up inside him, but calmly gave nothing but a small, discrete smile. Soon.
Glancing at the large screens to his right, he saw the astrogation team that sat in the middle of the room, in front of the command chair repositioning the buoys that were hovering closer to the star. It was their job to monitor both asteroids and stellar activity, but in term of actual astrogation, they were just as superfluous as he was.
All rocks in the system larger than ten meters had been surveyed by radar, their size and movement introduced into a computer simulation designed to plot their trajectory over the next ten years. APOLLO, the supercomputer that liked to make it's presence known from time to time kept track of them all. And since it also had a VI interface, it could also act as First Officer. Between APOLLO and commodore Andrews's micromanagement, he wondered if XO Hauser felt borderline useless as well.
"Ensign Wong, maneuver the USV's on the sun side of the target to T-309, 460 and 508. Have them hover about 20 meters off the surface" spoke the commodore in his usual calm tone, with barely a glance.
"Understood, Sir. USV's one through three moving to T-309, 460, 550" Lee replied.
"Ensign Thomas, take the USV's on the ventral side to T-310, 470, 563. 20 meters hovering distance. I want them in position for when disassembly begins."
"Roger. Moving to T-310, 470, 563" replied Paul.
Daniels sighed. The research team would indicate which tiles to be removed and replaced. The ones from the section of the OTT that were hit by the weapons test would be studied.
The OTT was one hundred meters across, a giant slab of amorphous steel, roughly ten meters thick, with hexagonal plates roughly a meter across covering one of it's surfaces, designated the impact surface. On it's dorsal side was a cluster of engines designed to maneuver the target around and stabilise it's movements following a weapons test. Alongside these engines there were the berthing and servicing stations for the eight small unmanned craft that serviced the installation. These contained different types of modular tools, instruments and attachments, as well as small robotic arms used for repair, and refueling.Though they look like glorified dog kennels. These eight berths were clustered around a central hub that contained the hydrogen fuel for both the OTT thrusters and the USV drones.
Said drones, like the one he was controlling, were about five meters long, with a camera ball and instrument boom situated in the frontal surface. It was cylindrical in shape, featuring many small thrusters designed for high finesse work around its' round central tank. To the frontal end of the vehicle, there were a pair of robotic arms, folded flat along the cylinder surface. Daniels knew that when the go ahead would be given, these were to be used to disassemble the surface tiles.
Not all, of course. That'd take almost a week.
He eyed the collage image, almost completed, that presented itself on the main frontal monitor. The target presented a large white blemish with outward radiating streaks. The tiles were cracked and blasted away in the impact zone. This was the region that interested the research team. The tiles here would be taken off and studied in the labs, while fresh one emplaced.
"Images compiled. Detailed visual survey completed. Seismic and radiation data also in" chimed APOLLO.
"Send it to the team. Let them know we'll be expecting instructions"
Daniels glanced at the large central screen as his USV stopped mere meters from Prashtan's. The Mjolnir really did a number on Ottis. On the one hand, I guess I should count myself lucky. Not many can say they've seen the pride of the colonial fleet fire. I've seen it nearly a dozen times.
The commodore had been in his chair for nearly an hour. He wasn't a rover, and seemed content to let everyone do their jobs. At least that's a plus.
"Sir, the team leaders are due to assemble in fifteen minutes" the XO said. "Should we postpone the debriefing?"
"No need. Things are well in hand here" said the commodore slowly rising and shutting off his monitors. "Mister Ibaka will be at the briefing, but his team is still expecting the results. There should be no delay in finding out which tiles they want for study. Bring the OTT in and proceed with disassembly".
"Understood, Sir" exclaimed Hauser as the commodore made his way to the exit.
"Prepare disassembly pattern" ordered the officer. "Once we get the results, I want it done by the end of the day".
Work, work, work..... Shore leave seemed a long way off ....