Chapter 42

Third Mission, outbound aboard the FUP Deep Space Exploration vessel Glenndeavor, 2401 CE

Riding in a Marine TD3 without one of the magnificent bucket seats wrapping your upper thighs, butt and hips, your back and shoulders, all cocooned in supreme comfort is just another uncomfortable trip with the tinted passageways whizzing by. Having to share one of the cubbyholes with another person I've never met was making the start of our journey to the extra-duty destination even more awkward. In this case, she wasn't one of the crew in my team of four searchers.

To be able to see anything outside the donk without the adjustable bucket seat underneath me, I had to ride on my knees with my armored elbows up on the forward edge of the front-right cubbyhole. Thank goodness, I, as well as Anika and Beatrice who were somewhere behind me in the donk, were all wearing confiscated knee pads.

There was a G3 Machinist Mate sitting on her butt and resting her back and left shoulder against the rear and inside wall of our armored compartment. I turned and looked at her. I could see on the right side of her prominent chest that Hangin was printed on her nametag. The young woman had her knees up almost against her boobs and her arms wrapped around the shins of her overalls. She wore a refrigeration specialty blaze along with a general mechanic blaze on the left sleeve of her duty blues that rested above her right arm wrapped around her shins.

I was sure her head wasn't visible from the passageway deck and my PAW was certain she was as happy as she was going to get in that position—hidden from view.

I'd not seen her until I started hoisting myself up into the front compartment. Her blue eyes seemed to nearly pop out of her thin face as I finally stepped up inside the cubbyhole. G3 Hangin had buzzed blonde hair under her Glenndeavor baseball cap—so I figured she wasn't under arms and would actually be off duty under normal circumstances. I nodded my Kilo helmet at her, and wondered how intimidating I might appear to her being all armored up and with my data visor down.

Standing there with the walls of the armored personnel compartment coming up to my waist as I towered over the young woman, I quickly realized what the reality of having no bucket seat was going to do to my line of sight. I got my shotgun strap from around my neck, over my helmet, and off my shoulder, feeling her eyes taking in every aspect of my battle kit as I knelt down on my knee pads facing forward. I settled down in front of her and to her right.

From checking my Heavy before I climbed up, the new programming from the data stick told me my group was accounted for and I was the last to board the Marine donk. I'd given the driver a nod before walking forward and reaching up for the handholds on either side of the front right cubbyhole opening. In my mind's eye, I still was enjoying the quick kiss Juliet gave me before we told each other to be careful and that we loved each other in the Enlisted Mess. She waited behind, as she should according to the downloaded SOP, for the next regular-duty donk that would drop her off at the Exo-Biology Department.

"Hold on, here we go," called out the voice of the Marine driver from behind us, and the TD3 started forward.

I was in my corner and G3 Hangin was back in her corner. In my peripheral vision I could see she kept returning her focus on my articulated-metal elbow protector resting on the front lip of our compartment.

I remembered the Marine Warrant Officer demonstrating how the overlapping metal plates might be opened and closed on an imaginary suspect's bare skin, the face in particular, to get a person to talk. I was fascinated in a shocked way at the time, never having seen anything like the elbow armor I was wearing now.

"I felt the same way," I said to Hangin, looking over my left shoulder at the G3 through my visor, "about these elbow gizmos the first time I saw a Marine wearing a pair. Is this your first time riding in a TD vehicle?"

"Ah, yeah—" she answered me, her surprisingly low-pitched voice sounding a bit befuddled by my non sequitur question, "—yes it is, G5." She hugged her knees closer to her shapely torso as the donk slowed down and started through a right turn into another cream-colored passageway.

"If you ever have a chance to ride in one of these things when they have the bucket seats installed," I told her, figuring we were both a little nervous at what was happening and wanting to take her mind off the situation somehow, "do yourself a favor and take the ride to experience the bucket seat. These donks suck right now without the seats, but at least we'll get where we're going fast and those spiders my team came up against yesterday didn't make a dent in the donk we were riding behind."

"But—the Captain said Marines were killed yesterday," G3 Hangin said, sounding confused and a little resentful. "You're telling me they were riding in one of these when the spiders attacked?"

"I don't know about the others, but we attacked the spiders in the engagement I was in," I replied. "And there would've been a lot more casualties if it weren't for the protection these cubbyholes provided the sky warriors we were supporting. So if something bad should happen, and it won't, just roll up in a tight ball and don't move. The spiders won't recognize you as a target that way, okay? I'll do all the moving and firing, and I'll die before I let any spider harm you. Besides, the rounds we've got loaded in our shotguns blew the spiders to the Ninth, Eleventh, and Fifth Hell—in little, flaming bits yesterday."

"You better be right, G5," G3 Hangin demanded from her scrunched position in the rear corner of our cubbyhole, her low-pitched voice full of rising ire, "or I'll never talk to you again, code monkey."

I felt my Kilo helmet recoil a bit from the direct hit contained by her words as I turned my torso in her direction. I would have been less shocked if she'd called me a motherfucker or a coward—what with the tone of venomous-sounding voice she'd used to pervert my previous calling.

"Yeah," Hangin said to me when I didn't answer, moving her head forward a bit on her neck and fixing her gaze on my eyes through my data visor, "I see the specialty blaze on your sleeve, too. You sure don't act or talk like any geekoid I've ever met before, so you better not be lubricating me with shinola about what you did yesterday, or how protected I am in this tin-can. Don't try and impress me. I didn't sign up to be in a war on my own Ship, or to give you some play after we get this terrorist Easter-egg hunt over—understood?"

My connection intruded on my thoughts, and I was suddenly aware of Anika. I could feel she was curious and she was feeling feisty.

Suddenly, from the top of the donk at the back of our compartment, Anika's Kilo-covered head appeared as the TD3 hummed along toward our area of assignment.

"So," my youngest wife asked in a slightly loud voice, startling G3 Hangin, "is my naughty husband trying to be taking your mind off this unpleasantry being stirred up by threat of spider attacks? I am thinking you are mistaking his crude banter as signal he is shining example of truth-told fucktard meeting your expectations. I am betting you have heard flirtatious geek boasting and overtures for you to be taking down your damp panties from some previous code monkey before—and perhaps at that time, accepting such ploy to your regret—yes?"

G3 Hangin didn't answer, but her mouth was open.

"However," my Polka Fireball continued when the G3 said nothing, "to what you are not knowing; he is already having two eager wives and mistress to satisfy his magnificent hungers and filling equipment, yes? To which, the three of us are blissfully sore in attempts to satisfy our man."

Anika's visor retracted into her Kilo and she focused her dark blue eyes down on G3 Hangin whose baseball-cap-covered head was turned back against the rear wall as she looked up at my youngest wife above her. The young woman's mouth was still open with no sound coming out from between her lips.

"I see you are being specialist in refrigeration," Anika addressed the Machinist Mate, the barrel of my wife's street sweeper appeared close to her left shoulder, but pointing away from me, as she leaned over the 30 centimeters of top deck from the compartment behind us, the fingers of her right tactical glove gripping the edge of our cubbyhole. "Is that blaze figuring significant in your attitude toward men in general or my naughty husband being particular?"

The young woman was still agog at Anika's sudden appearance and I couldn't gauge if the G3 was even processing my younger wife's questions and claims as my Polka Fireball held the G3's gaze like a cobra might hypnotize its prey.

"I am seeing you wear baseball hat," said my royal Princess to the commoner hunkered down in the corner, "are you able to be batting as switching hitter? I am; but in cases such as yours, I will be pitching, yes?"

Gowno, my paranoid ass-wipe sighed from my lizard brain. Sniff her to see if we need to sound the siren warning, or the warning siren—you know what I mean—we don't want a sixteen person orgy breaking out here in the corridor in a moving vehicle.

It wasn't the siren of Nowe Gniezno calling; I actually turned around, leaned closer to her, and sniffed. Anika laughed at me and told me to turn around and face my present responsibilities. After a few words with Machinist Mate Hangin, once the young woman regained her ability to talk, Anika crouched back down in her cubbyhole behind us. I kept my mouth closed and started scanning the passageway in front of the TD3—so much for trying to make an unarmed crewmate feel more comfortable.

We took a cargo lift down to Six Deck and then headed to our assigned section. There were two compartments at the top of our list that were across the passageway from each other. Once the donk pulled away, the strikingly efficient G3 Beatrice Henderson took charge before I could open my mouth.

My inner geek let me know she was perfect NCO material.

The first thing G3 Henderson said was that everyone was to take four red stickers off our roll and put them on one sleeve of our coveralls, then we were to put six or more green stickers on the other sleeve. In that way we could develop a rhythm in our work and not have to dig for the proper colored sticker and peel one off each time we scanned an item. She told us to leave the yellow roll in our pocket, because we'd probably not be using any of those indicators. I could see Bea had the net bag of her returned marker beacons hanging from her armored vest against her back left hip. The swinging bag caught my attention every time our luscious honey-blonde moved.

When I check our rosters on my Heavy, I discovered that Beatrice had somehow managed to reassign four of the G2s in our group to G2 Blaugelt-Sitwell. G3 Henderson told them they were to start at the back-left corner of the larger compartment and search forward along the bulkhead. Beatrice took a G2 and three G3s under her command, including the Machinist Mate, so I didn't have to deal with G3 Hangin. Bea told us her group would search the smaller compartment. The remaining G2 and a G3, along with the two G4s with us were my responsibility now, and Bea told us to work with Anika's crew. Bea assigned us to start in the right-front corner and work our way back along that bulkhead.

G3 Henderson then surprised our searchers; she told them that we each had a pod of mosquito drones mounted on the backs of our Kilo helmet. Once the hatchways were locked behind us and we started scanning the stores, we would deploy the probes, checking their work to make sure everyone took their duty seriously—slackers would go on report. She told everyone who hadn't already done so to insert their issued data stick into the proper port of their POC. No one moved, so we were ready start working Bea's plan.

I had to admit again that Beatrice was NCO quality when her duty persona came over her.

"You heard the G3," I said, raising my voice. "Move out."

That was what everyone did, heading to our assigned compartments to start searching. As I watched Anika finger in the combination on the hatch control panel of our assigned stowage space, I knew our mosquitoes were really useless in monitoring the work of our crews. The tiny devices only had motion, sound, and infrared sensors that wouldn't be able to differentiate what each person was doing other than moving, talking, and creating a heat signature. As we started working our planned search areas, I didn't get a data feed from Bea across the corridor or from Anika in our storage compartment, so they hadn't released their bugs either. By the time my crew was in a rhythm, scanning items, I was happy that none of us had the intention of running our drones power supplies down for no good purpose.

We scanned inventory and stuck on green stickers. The SOP that Lieutenant Lufkin down-loaded for us called for fifty minutes of identifying inventory stored in a compartment followed by a 10 minute break. Before our first break I had green stickers on both of my sleeves and the red and yellow rolls were in my left bottom thigh pocket. The tactical gloves our Princess had provided actually made peeling the stickers off the roll backing easier.

I found the steady, repetitive routine of finding an item's barcode, scanning the barcode, checking the color of the signal light return, and then placing a green sticker next to the barcode was becoming hypnotic. Out of boredom, I found I was daydreaming about the high-tech holographic emitters I'd claimed from the contraband supplies. In my mind's eye I'd already pictured how to install the units into my portable projectors.

I had started thinking about the best way to sync the holographic fields to achieve an image that appeared solid while doing away with any hint of illumination from the background field. I'd hoped the laptop I'd claimed from the big container of satellite control units was going to be the comp I'd use to link the projectors. My inner geek was appalled I hadn't taken the time to investigate any of the capabilities of the contraband laptop. It wasn't even in our suite to remind me to monkey around with the machine; I'd put it in the Royal Yacht with the cold-weather gear we'd claimed the same day. I hadn't even booted it up once.

I'd been geeking around in my own head for 30 minutes as I absentmindedly saw green on my inner Heavy screen and applied another sticker. Giving my helmet a shake, I realized I could have easily missed a red or yellow color and place a green sticker on a scanned container or pallet of material out of habit. I quickly programmed my Heavy to buzz out a warning if I got a red or yellow return while I was scanning bar codes off whatever inventory item was in front of me.

Eight minutes before our first group break, I connected with Bea and Anika on Channel C and sent them my hack file to download into their POCs and those of their teams. I told both of them that an alarm would go off if any of our people got a scan that wasn't green. That way everyone around would know we were getting the job done when something out of the ordinary turned up. Whichever one of us Irregulars was in charge of the lucky crewmember could investigate and follow up with pictures if it was contraband. At the end of our shift, I directed G3 Henderson to put in a call to a contraband recovery team, so they could show up on their donk and pickup any red or yellow items we discovered.

By the time our pickup donk approached at the end of our four-hour shift, we'd completely checked five of the compartments on our list moving directly down the section passageway. The donk was full of the next group of searchers and their three-man, Marine security team. From our SOP for searching the entire Ship, I knew this group would start their hunt for contraband with the next compartment on the list for this section of the Ship. I hoped they had better luck than our crew; our duty shift hadn't used a single yellow or red sticker.

As I watched people start climbing down from the Marine donk, my neck was feeling a little stiff from looking down at bar codes with a shotgun strap partially around it for the first part of my day. Near me, three of the people in my four-man crew were talking about heading to the Enlisted Lounge for a drink before going to their compartments for bed. My lone G2, with green stickers still on her left sleeve, started laughing and she told the G3 and the two G4s that the Lounge was closed until further notice—hadn't they listened to the Captain's address to the Ship? That started the three Exies bitching to each other as the G2 stepped over to me by the passageway bulkhead as our ride slowly emptied of people.

"What are you doing after this?" the young, G2 Electrician's Mate asked as she gave me a sexy smile and peered into my data visor from less than a half-a-meter away.

"I'm going back to the Enlisted Lounge with my youngest wife over there," I told her with a grin and nod of my head. "We'll have lunch with our lover, the G3 with the other shotgun and a sour look on the part of her face we can see under her visor. After that, we get to provide security and supervision for our next group of searchers for another four hours of green stickers and fun."

"Well, crap," said the G2—Muschi was on her nametag—giving me a tentative smile. "You can't blame a single woman for trying."

"If you're lucky," I told her, "tomorrow your security team will be Marines. They're mostly nice guys, single, and are motivated to find female companionship as well. They're all trained to adapt and overcome; as are the women Marines."

"Hey, thanks for the tip. After everything that's been happening on this Mission, I'm ready to be overcome," Muschi told me, her smile getting bigger, making her brown eyes twinkle under her short black hair. "Thanks for everything you're doing to keep us and the Glenndeavor safe, by the way."

"You're welcome," I told her.

"Let's load up—" my sweet G3 Henderson yelled from the front of the donk as she swept her data visor over all of us malingerers, her stance projecting her military bearing and no-nonsense attitude, "—so this hay ride can get us back to the barn already!"

Beatrice sounded a little cranky to me.

We saw several donks with search crews and maintenance teams going to their destination, as well as the occasional four-man, Marine security teams patrolling passageways as we moved through the Glenndeavor. Our donk dropped off nine of the members of our teams at two different lounges on Six Deck and three at a lounge on Five Deck. According to the SOP I'd scanned before leaving the Enlisted Mess, unarmed crew members were to be escorted from the lounges to their quarters on foot by somebody else.

The TD3 took Anika, Bea, and me back to the Enlisted Mess to drop the three of us off for lunch. The Marines in the donk were picking up another crew as we entered the big hatchway. As each of us were scanned by the SPI team. As they checked the reports on their data pads concerning our IDs, they told us we knew the drill and to get our chow. After a quick meal at separate tables again and a trip to the heads adjacent to the nearly full compartment, Anika, Beatrice, and I provided security for another 12 searchers along another section of Six Deck. We had a bit of excitement when two different stacks of drums returned yellow lights when their bar codes were scanned. Other than that, everything scanned came up green in the six compartments we finished.

After five of our team of twelve got off at a crew lounge on Six Deck, we pulled away heading for the next drop-off. I got an Incoming Comm icon blinking on my toolbar across the top of my data visor. Our donk started to slow down for the next intersection where a TD2 was parked, the crew watching us approach. Winking at the icon with my left eye to open the Text Order, I learned I was to disembark from the TD3 I was in and get on the TD2 we'd rendezvous with at Int-6D-S17s-S18p. I would be given a complementary ride to the Bridge Block by that conveyance.

This was my stop coming up, and now I didn't have to find us a ride, or walk, to our meeting with the Ship's XO.

As the Marine driver brought her machine to a halt, Anika and Beatrice stood up at the same time as I got to my feet. Checking the Ship's time in the bottom left corner of my visor, I saw we had exactly 20 minutes to get to the Bridge Block and report to Commander Renfro. Other than the Marine driver and the two sky warriors providing security, Anika, Bea, and I were the only passengers on the TD2 as we rode to our meeting. By habit and tactical necessity, we all got in different cubbyholes.

As the donk approached the cargo lift that would take us up one deck to Officers' Counrty, I was surprised we weren't told to dismount from our ride and continue on foot toward the center of the Main Hull. Consulting the time display on my data visor as I crouched in the front right cubbyhole, I saw we had plenty of time to report by 0830 taking the heel-toe express. As the hatchway opened and the TD2 moved into the lift car, I figured the Marines were going to pick up something or someone important once they finally dropped us off.

After traveling through Officers' Country and taking a cargo lift past Two Deck and all the essential systems located there, we arrived. When the hatch of the lift compartment opened, I saw a five-man Marine check point to the left and across the passageway. They protected the far bulkhead that was one of the four massive collision hatches allowing access to the Bridge Block. The big, armored-up Marine who seemed to be in charge waved us forward. The sky warrior in the armored personnel compartment to my left motioned for the driver to pull out of the lift.

With just the hint of the sound of clean tires on clean decking, the machine started forward and then turned to the left, stopping as soon as the donk was fully out of the lift car and positioned straight in the corridor. With a wave of the big Marine's hand, the three of us got down from the TD2 and approached as he brought up a data pad.

As he started scanning Beatrice ahead of me, I realized this was the same Marine Warrant Officer who demonstrated the slice-and-dice capabilities of the elbow armor we now were wearing. That happened right before Anika and I were introduced to our new name-friend, PFC Israel Jerusalem, by our good buddy, Calvin Vespa. It seemed to my PAW that had happened a year ago.

After the Chief got green readings on each of us he smiled and told us he saw we'd taken his advice, lifting his left forearm up and pointing his armored elbow at me.

As the TD2 pulled away, heading down the passageway to the left of the check point, the armored hatchway in the bulkhead opened and the three of us were waved inside. An ExServ Ensign, wearing the Uniform of the Day with a thin ballistic vest, her POC, a holstered side arm, and a garrison cap, was waiting for us in the wide passageway as we walked into the Block. As the hatch closed behind us, we saluted her and our salutes were returned in crisp fashion, followed by her saying, "Please, follow me. No need to salute anyone else but Commander Renfro and the Captain."

We nodded in return and then put the straps of our shotguns over our right shoulders. We began following our guide in single file; me behind the Ensign, Beatrice behind me, and Anika bringing up the rear.

Thank goodness there was no saluting. It seemed every person we encountered in the hustle and bustle along our route held some rank and wore a garrison hat or even a POT helmet; and everyone had a holstered side arm—a pistol or hand laser—on the belt of their coveralls. Occasionally, we walked by armored-up, two-man, Marine security teams on duty outside important closed compartment hatchways along our route. I saw each one of them had a data scanner in the center of their vests, hanging down on a lanyard around their necks. We witnessed everyone entering or leaving a guarded compartment being scanned.

There was a feeling of focused attention coming from each person we passed. I didn't see any officers sharing a joke with each other as they approached us along the passageway. If there was a conversation going on between them, the officers talked in hushed tones and tilted their heads closer. Even then, the eyes of each ExServ officer or Marine we encountered seemed to be aware of their surroundings at all times. Several officers gave the three of us the once-over as we walked by each other. Thank goodness, we had the Ensign as our obvious minder.

Since Juliet was also handed a folded note before breakfast, that I assumed contained the same orders to report to Mister Renfro, as she hadn't said anything about the note when we said our good-bye, I wondered where she was as I followed our minder.

Ahead, I saw there was another five-man Marine security detail at the collision bulkhead that opened onto the inner sanctum of the Bridge Block that contained not only the actual Bridge of the Glenndeavor, but the Captain's office, her quarters, and whatever auxiliary spaces and control compartments that were needed to make the Bridge area utilitarian and self-contained if necessary. Our group was stopped by the Marines and scanned before they opened the hatch and we were allowed to proceed.

As we moved through the very heart of the Glenndeavor, I remembered the last time I'd ventured this far into the Ship; I'd been with Merch. By this point in that trip, I'd been wondering just who in the First Hell he was that he thought he could waltz into a meeting with the Captain of the Ship as if he'd done so before on a regular basis as a lowly member of the Supply Department.

Now I knew that, among other roles, he was Acting Lieutenant Commander Merchanni, head of the Supply Department; he was also some kind of black-ops spook who not only knew Arrbra Die Florrie, but Merch had been with her husband when he'd died a hero on Beaujanonce; and I knew Merch to be the Captain's husband.

The Ensign stopped us in front of the hatchway to the Captain's office, that was guarded by two of the Captain's security team. They both seemed familiar, even with their data visors deployed—it was something about their bearing. I glanced at their nametags on the turtle-shell body armor.

Warrant Officer Laph stepped forward from the right side of the hatch. She held her laser rifle by the trigger-assembly grip in her left hand with the butt between her elbow and the side of her vest; the barrel of the weapon pointed at the overhead. Bringing up her data pad in her other hand, she scanned my nametag; her right hand movement also swept the device over my chest. I knew her pad had pinged my ID stick on its necklace and probably my ID card on the dummy cord under my vest and clothes.

On the other side of the hatchway, Staff Sergeant Roaig stood with his combat shotgun held at port arms. With his visor deployed, he slowly tracked his POT helmet to his right, then his left, and back again while Laph stepped by me, scanning Bea and then Anika.

With a nod of Laph's helmet, the hatchway opened. The Ensign took one step back toward Sergeant Roiag and indicated with her right hand that we should go inside. With a return nod of my head, I took off my Kilo helmet as Bea and Anika removed their helmets, too. We ended up holding them against our left sides in the crook of our elbows, the straps of our shotguns still resting over the right shoulders of our high-tech armor vests.

My inner geek was impressed with the finish of my vest. Since leaving the donk, the shotgun strap hadn't migrated toward the edge of my shoulder even five millimeters from the spot where I'd first slung my Betzoule Model 2308. Putting that thought out of my head, I turned from our minder standing there near the Marine Staff Sergeant and the passageway bulkhead. I cleared my throat and stepped through the opened hatchway.

I saw Commander Renfro was waiting four steps from the threshold. I had the immediate impression there were other people in the compartment as well.

To my right was the big desk where the Captain's Yeoman, a G5, sat on the other side of four flat-screen monitors, seemingly unconcerned over my arrival—again. With a fancy, old-fashion headset over his right ear and the tiny tube holding a microphone element close to his mouth, he continued to type at an amazing rate, administering to who-knows-what that kept the Glenndeavor running smoothly. I saw his lips barely move for just a moment as he continued to focus on his work.

In the middle of the right bulkhead was a hatchway that my inner geek knew opened onto the Ready Room of the Ship's Bridge, I saw three standard-issue chairs to the left of the hatch. Another young-looking Ensign sat in the far chair, reading from a data pad. He seemed comfortable and didn't look up from his study. Beyond Mister Renfro, in the back bulkhead, was the hatchway to the Captain's office. I'd been in there once before with sweat slowly trickling down my spine as I'd focused on the pictures decorating the bulkhead behind the Captain's amazing desk.