In the bowels of the submarine, swimming in diesel fumes, they waited. Ku found herself a nook between an engine and an air cleaner that’d almost become comfortable, if she stopped thinking about the valve jabbing at her kidney. Opposite her, a kid who self-described as a neotenic, and a carried an ID listing his aged as forty five. Perched on the engine, a tan-furred catgirl who went by the name on Mellura. Against the bulkhead, propping the hatch open with his elbow, one of the Americans – from the group that looked far too ‘squared away’ as the Americans said to have ever been civilians.
In her hands, a card with her photograph on it, set against a blue-marbled background, listing her expected qualification, along with a list of skills she was supposed to learn.
Qualification: Lvl-0 Sensor Specialist
Communications.
Sensors(Sonar)
Sensors(Radar)
Sensors(Space)
Submarines(Diesel)
Communications
Damage Control
Firefighting.
Shiphandling.
Scrawled in pen on the bottom in a space marked notes:
“Knowledge (PLAN)”
It even had space for an inspirational quote at the bottom
“You cannot fight what you cannot find”
The card seemed more like something collectible from a game than a realistic track of her capabilities as an officer. Ku turned it in her hands. Everyone new to the crew had their own.
Voices rose from a hatch in the floor at her feet, chased by the rattle of a compressed air gun driving a bolt home. A man with skin the colour of engine oil, emerged from below, took a quick scope around, then hauled himself up to the deck with a creak.
An orange boiler suit had been smeared with thick grease and black oil
“Damn,” the American breathed.
“Nazzadi,” said the man, white teeth gleaming from black skin. “What happens when it’s either everybody dies, or somebody goes swimming in handwavium to gumpter up a water main into an engine coolant feed.”
“Shit,” said the American. “That’s pretty damn salty.”
“Thanks,” he breathed, red eyes turning vacant a moment. Whatever attacked him, he mastered it. He took a clipboard up from the engine cases, took another deep breath. He flipped the oilstained cover sheet over, gathered his thoughts.
“Righto, righto. I've brought you down here to start your training on the boat. Now, some of you will be familiar surface ships.” And he looked right at her when he said that. “Some of you've been crew on space ships before.” He looked to the kid “But as the man said, it's an entirely different kind of flying altogether”.
Only one person – the American - laughed. She just stared at him as he spoke.
“When you go to space, the hardest thing you have to do is keep what's in here, from getting out there. Now, that's not too hard, all things told. And even if you do get it wrong and the stuff inside does get out, sure, you've about 20 seconds to try do something about it before it becomes a terminal problem.”
He smirked at her. Speaking from experience?
“Now, where we're going, the thing we have to worry about, is keeping what's out there,” he pointed to the white painted hull behind the endfrom getting in here. And the further down we go, the harder and harder it's going to try. Eventually, it'll try hard enough that it'll find a way through a weak seam or a loose hatch, and it'll punch …”
A smack of a fist impacting in his palms added the required emphasis.
“…a nice big fat hole, and all that stuff out there will just crash in through it, compressing the remaining air in the hull to the point where it explodes like some giant diesel engine, blowing the boat and everything in it apart in about ten milliseconds.”
He gave that a few long seconds to sink in.
“Make no mistake about it. Blaise Pascal is the meanest prick in the universe. And Isaac Newton is his cuntish friend, dragging us down to where his sick French mate can crush us to little bits.
Where we're going, there can be no fuckups. There is no margin for error.
That's why we have four main engines, any one of which can drive this boat.
That's why we have emergency batteries, two banks, half of any one of which, can drive this boat for one day at full power.”
He counted them out on his fingers.
“And then we have you. Any one of which can kill us all by setting a single valve in the wrong direction. “
A pair of demon red eyes fixed each of them in place in turn. Yes, you can kill us all. Ku breathed – nothing she couldn’t handle.
It's taken us six months of rooting to get halfway familiar with this boat. We've crawled through her bowels covered in rat-shite, rust and tetanus. We know every pipe, ever bolt, every screw and every seam. This is our boat. It's your job to learn it all. It's you're job now to earn the right to call it yours.”
A direct challenge to their pride. She felt her skin prickle at the idea of failing.
He smirked, flashing the fangs. “As for why we're mad enough to do this?
Freight rates from Ultima Station to Venus orbit are 1200 credits per volumetric ton.
Freight rates from Venus orbit to Venus surface, are 1200 credits per volumetric kilo.
All those researchers and prospectors, they need someone to move their shit. And That someone is us.”
He aimed the finger on his right hand right at his chest.
Ku sat there, staring at her card. That someone may have been them, alright, but she just wasn’t sure if it was her.
This was so far beyond anything she expected.
“So, what brings you here?” the kid asked her.
She looked down at him, not sure what to make of an apparently eight year old leading with the most obvious pass in history.
The smile on his bright eyed face gave it away
“Money,” she lied. “Same as you.”
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
In her hands, a card with her photograph on it, set against a blue-marbled background, listing her expected qualification, along with a list of skills she was supposed to learn.
Qualification: Lvl-0 Sensor Specialist
Communications.
Sensors(Sonar)
Sensors(Radar)
Sensors(Space)
Submarines(Diesel)
Communications
Damage Control
Firefighting.
Shiphandling.
Scrawled in pen on the bottom in a space marked notes:
“Knowledge (PLAN)”
It even had space for an inspirational quote at the bottom
“You cannot fight what you cannot find”
The card seemed more like something collectible from a game than a realistic track of her capabilities as an officer. Ku turned it in her hands. Everyone new to the crew had their own.
Voices rose from a hatch in the floor at her feet, chased by the rattle of a compressed air gun driving a bolt home. A man with skin the colour of engine oil, emerged from below, took a quick scope around, then hauled himself up to the deck with a creak.
An orange boiler suit had been smeared with thick grease and black oil
“Damn,” the American breathed.
“Nazzadi,” said the man, white teeth gleaming from black skin. “What happens when it’s either everybody dies, or somebody goes swimming in handwavium to gumpter up a water main into an engine coolant feed.”
“Shit,” said the American. “That’s pretty damn salty.”
“Thanks,” he breathed, red eyes turning vacant a moment. Whatever attacked him, he mastered it. He took a clipboard up from the engine cases, took another deep breath. He flipped the oilstained cover sheet over, gathered his thoughts.
“Righto, righto. I've brought you down here to start your training on the boat. Now, some of you will be familiar surface ships.” And he looked right at her when he said that. “Some of you've been crew on space ships before.” He looked to the kid “But as the man said, it's an entirely different kind of flying altogether”.
Only one person – the American - laughed. She just stared at him as he spoke.
“When you go to space, the hardest thing you have to do is keep what's in here, from getting out there. Now, that's not too hard, all things told. And even if you do get it wrong and the stuff inside does get out, sure, you've about 20 seconds to try do something about it before it becomes a terminal problem.”
He smirked at her. Speaking from experience?
“Now, where we're going, the thing we have to worry about, is keeping what's out there,” he pointed to the white painted hull behind the endfrom getting in here. And the further down we go, the harder and harder it's going to try. Eventually, it'll try hard enough that it'll find a way through a weak seam or a loose hatch, and it'll punch …”
A smack of a fist impacting in his palms added the required emphasis.
“…a nice big fat hole, and all that stuff out there will just crash in through it, compressing the remaining air in the hull to the point where it explodes like some giant diesel engine, blowing the boat and everything in it apart in about ten milliseconds.”
He gave that a few long seconds to sink in.
“Make no mistake about it. Blaise Pascal is the meanest prick in the universe. And Isaac Newton is his cuntish friend, dragging us down to where his sick French mate can crush us to little bits.
Where we're going, there can be no fuckups. There is no margin for error.
That's why we have four main engines, any one of which can drive this boat.
That's why we have emergency batteries, two banks, half of any one of which, can drive this boat for one day at full power.”
He counted them out on his fingers.
“And then we have you. Any one of which can kill us all by setting a single valve in the wrong direction. “
A pair of demon red eyes fixed each of them in place in turn. Yes, you can kill us all. Ku breathed – nothing she couldn’t handle.
It's taken us six months of rooting to get halfway familiar with this boat. We've crawled through her bowels covered in rat-shite, rust and tetanus. We know every pipe, ever bolt, every screw and every seam. This is our boat. It's your job to learn it all. It's you're job now to earn the right to call it yours.”
A direct challenge to their pride. She felt her skin prickle at the idea of failing.
He smirked, flashing the fangs. “As for why we're mad enough to do this?
Freight rates from Ultima Station to Venus orbit are 1200 credits per volumetric ton.
Freight rates from Venus orbit to Venus surface, are 1200 credits per volumetric kilo.
All those researchers and prospectors, they need someone to move their shit. And That someone is us.”
He aimed the finger on his right hand right at his chest.
Ku sat there, staring at her card. That someone may have been them, alright, but she just wasn’t sure if it was her.
This was so far beyond anything she expected.
“So, what brings you here?” the kid asked her.
She looked down at him, not sure what to make of an apparently eight year old leading with the most obvious pass in history.
The smile on his bright eyed face gave it away
“Money,” she lied. “Same as you.”
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?