The TML PBeM

1998, Turn 0 - Part 3 (of n)

Elissa Bridge - 09:50

_Captain,_ PATER reports, _Incoming vessels are accelerating and tightening formation._

"Whurf?" Bhyarrvouf looks up from the monitor readout he's been studying. "Wait a minute! If they're on final approach, why are they ACCELERATING?"

"Awww, nuts," Stubbs mutters to himself.

Zben Blaine seated at Commo listens to this exchange, and his ears perk up. For the last few minutes he's been doing "routine" (for him) duties, logging the wide variety of traffic channels, picking up a few easy access codes here and there, labeling various channels first by language, then by content. The Unknown languages (at least unrecognizable to him), he tags, lists, and sends to the Science Team. Everyone else is communicating with PATER via voice links, so his keyboard inputs are answered quickly, and he rapidly forms a simple frame work and hierarchy of all the available channels. From the Traffic Control he gets a list of "Shipyard" frequencies, and from his "acquired" data links he gets the info addresses for local directories and searches, posting these to Science, and the local Shipyard records to Engineering.

'Vouf's ear flicks in the Terran captain's direction. "'Nuts' WHAT?"

"We're not in any danger, Captain," Stubbs assures him hastily. "It's just that scuttlepod pilots can be a bit, well....exuberant, sometimes. I had hoped that they'd show a little courtesy to a new crew on a damaged ship, but--"

"HERE THEY COME!"

Bhyarrvouf whirls to stare at the front display, as a long, staggered line of craft hurtles toward the Elissa on an obvious suicide-ram collision course. The image blurs slightly as the optics frantically try to keep the approaching craft in focus. Suddenly, with a scream of jets easily heard through the thin air on the external audio pickups, the first craft peels off. Then the next, and the next, and the next, each in a different direction.

Five ships, ten, twenty, each more eye-hurtingly garish than the last, hurtle past the Elissa's bow in a multicolored flash of fusion thrusters and sonic booms, and are soon formation-flying over the battered tender's hull in an intricate pattern, their speed only slightly diminished.

"PATER," 'Vouf demands, "Can you give us a visual on what they're doing?"

_Only a panoramic view at an average-estimate focal distance, Captain,_ the AI replies. _There are too many targets to allow for individual tracking._

"I guess that'll do," 'Vouf sighs. "On screen."

The view shifts to a camera looking aft over the dorsal surface of the Elissa, the Paladin and Khtaliyr clearly visible. The small craft are slowing now, settling into an intricate dance over the ship's hull. They resemble insects surveying a field of flowers more than anything else...pausing, floating still, then darting aside, never colliding despite hair-raising near misses with each other, the Elissa, and her riders.

There is such a wide variety of designs that none can really be called typical, but the pods all have certain features in common: each is about the size of a large lifeboat or pinnace, massing anywhere from 20 to 50 tons. All feature an oversized pilot's cockpit with wide visibility somewhere near the dorsal center of the craft, and a wide ventral surface apparently made up of jointed or flexible gripping attachments. And all are painted in unique and garish patterns: Sunbursts, undersea scenes, fractals, moire illusions, copies of famous portraits or photographs, random splashes of paint.

The parallel is a very poor one, but the best description that comes to mind is of metal starfish with cockpits, some with stubby or almost nonexistent limbs (Imagine a trilobite with no tail), others with longer ones, some with three or four, others with six or eight. All show large grav-lifter units and massive fusion thrusters behind the cockpits, and on several, the "limb" assembly actually rotates as the ship flies, the cockpit counterrotating to balance the craft.

The dance is carefully choreographed, and a minute or two of watching gradually allows a pattern to be discerned among the hovering ships. Some move from place to place while maintaining the same attitude toward the Elissa; others seem to be oriented toward the Wire as a fixed "up-down" reference. But most seem to have no set direction or orientation at all. They flip upside down, roll and yaw effortlessly, seemingly just for the joy of it. Two of the dorsal craft seem to move less than the others, as if directing them: one is black with a gigantic hot-pink sunburst on its belly, and the other is decorated in alternating blue and gold stripes.

"Wow," 'Vouf whispers, watching the ballet raptly. "I've never seen anything like that in my life...."

"Scuttlepods, Captain," Stubbs smiles. "A form of grav vehicle unlike any in our old universe. Designed to work in an atmosphere, yet with a gravitational reference that could change at any moment. Powerful enough to rescue a ship twenty times their size from the gravity well, delicate enough to scoop up and grapple a child's sccoterbike without bending the frame, manueverable enough to fit almost anywhere...and requiring pilots with enormous skill and dedication to teamwork as well as individual initiative. And," he chuckles, "Not a little insanity...."

'Vouf merely nods, eyes on the screen. His tail thumps loudly against the back of his chair, and his tongue lolls out in a huge canine grin.

The whirling mass of small vessels is not totally unfamiliar to Zben, as he has seen similar action, on a much smaller scale, when docking a Tukerra HighLiner at Darrian Prime space dock. But the speed, and seeming lack of coordination is Very different. Always curious he "pulls in" a set of antenna to focus and scan on the space in front of Elissa where the "scuttlepods" are converging. He's rewarded with bursts of squibed transponder codes, each with it's own data tag, changing with some common reference. Studying the read out in front of him it appears that the "dance" of the scuttle pods is no where near as random and dangerous as it first appears. Each ship appears to be Very aware of two things: It's exact position taken from the radio beacon and a couple of other points, and the course, speed, and position of every other pod within it's "sphere". Simple integration would make it extremely difficult for any two pods to hit, but any sudden errant maneuver would send ripples all the way back to Centerpoint.

In addition to all the digital data and telemetry there is also a considerable amount of verbal traffic, some of which causes Zben to break into a big grin....

_Captain, I am picking up sideband emissions from a wide variety of narrow-beam transmitters. The small craft are apparently in close communication with one another._

"They run an in-flight area network to coordinate their operations," Stubbs explains. "Any time you have more than two pods on a job, their onboard computers have to be able to talk to each other to avoid collisions or other damage. They even relay tracking data so no craft is ever isolated in another one's shadow."

_There is a modulated audio band within the signal net._

"Lock in and tighten on it, Zben," 'Vouf orders.

"Already on it sir. Bringing it up on the main speakers." He grins knowing the Captain will Not be happy with a few of the comments he's about to hear...

A chorus of voices suddenly crackles from the speaker.

<< UnbefreakinLIEVable! They JUMPED with this hunk of chewed up Grid? That Captain oughta be locked up! >>

<< Or shot. They're missing their entire stern Grid. Whole Power gang must be jumpsick by now--assuming they're still alive. >>

<< Massif torsal tamache, an' starport'site, so! She peen poun'tet pretty hart, ee? >>

<< Starboard cargo hold has a large inward detonation signature, indicating forced entry. It looks like a boarding action was repulsed. >>

<< What I wanna know is, what's the OTHER guy look like... >>

<< ESPECIALLY if the other guy's Bloodsucker Stamerra. If this Bhyarrvouf guy really kicked the ol' groat-fucker for a loss, life's gonna get pretty exciting around here. >>

<< Blah, blah, blah. So she's chewed up a little. That's not gonna stop us from taking her home and tucking her in. Ready to go, Flashy? >>

<< Negative. >> Unlike the cacaphony of other voice, this response is cool, unemotional. << All units hold position. I am ordering a HOLD on planned sequence. >>

There is a chorus of angry or confused protests. The cool voice apparently ignores them, and says, << This is Scuttlepod Coordinator Flashgordon. If the Elissa is receiving voice comms on established AirSpace Traffic Control bands, please respond via audio at once. >>

As the voice awaits its reply, the dance slows and stops, the pods hovering in place over the Elissa. Some rotate or spin in place, end over end, apparently just for the fun of it.

'Vouf nods to Zben, who turns and taps the comm panel.

"This is the Event Horizon Dazzle Ship Elissa, Captain Bhyarrvouf BaYaThagk-Kabra at the conn. Thanks for the tow, gentlesophonts, we were getting a bit worried out here."

<< Do not thank us yet. >> the cold voice replies drily. << Your ship is showing extensive hull and Grid damage. Are we to understand that its superstructure is also verifiably compromised? >>

"Affirmative," 'Vouf responds. "At least one and probably more of her main structural members have suffered cracks. We did a half turn, and--"

There is another chorus from the speakers, this time of groans and invective in a multitude of languages.

<< Oh, of COURSE! It couldn't be an easy one just ONCE, could it? >>

<< Toupletime plus hassart pay. Assumink we ton' ket KILT. >>

<< Clamp down, you sideshow freaks, >> a husky female voice cuts in. << 'S what we're paid for, innit? Flashy, you wanna run the new sequence or shall I? >>

<< I was informed to expect data from the Elissa on the extent of her damage, >> replies Flashgordon. << When it is uploaded I will make a first-order estimate. Then we will attach and deep-scan, following with a second-order adjustment and then an attempted move. >>

The other voices make noises of assent.

<< Elissa, I am ready for structural data upload. >>

"Our best gravitics and hull tech, Mister MacLaeran, has used the past two hours to gather what little data he could using our tools and EVAs," Bhyarrvouf says. "Here comes the upload." He turns to Blaine. "Squirt the birds, Zben."

Blaine's hands move across the console. There is a pause on the bridge as the data flows out to the waiting 'pods.

After the upload, there is a long silence as the data are digested.

<< Scans are incomplete, but confirm damage to at least one spinal member, >> Flashgordon confirms. << The data are surprisingly complete given the equipment and time constraints. My compliments to your Mister MacLaeran. Attention please, all pods-- First-order traction adjustments have been made. All units accept and evaluate. >>

There's a moment's silence, then voices begin to pipe up in careful order.

<< Flashy, this's Finklestein. Looks good to me, but did you take rider masses and fuel ullage into account? >>

<< Ohatopi hee'er. Look hokay py me. >>

<< Blackwolf say GO! >>

<< Uroakhta. Ka'tai, your plan is acceptable, modulo Don's amendments. >>

<< Chrysomallos. Screw the amendments, her tanks are almost dry and those riders don't weigh fly-shit. Let's hit it! >>

<< Fade BACK, Tash! If we snap her spine 'cause YOU can't be bothered to wait for a decent two-off, I'll hand your sorry ass over to this MacLaeran guy and let you try to explain why you killed his ship before he murders you. >>

<< Oh, fuck you sideways, Fink, you grandstanding fuck! >>

<< In your DREAMS, Tashy. >>

<< Both of you be silent. >>

<< Fuck you sideways too, Tlia. >>

<< 1rr1TanT d3f3cT1v3 m!ndkonTa1nr no1z. d0ubl3Plu5UnG00d. >>

<< Another country heard from. >>

<< Stow it, all of you! >>

<< Wake me up when we're doing something USEFUL, okay? >>

<< bzzp. >>

<< Kaegurrgvang...Flashy, the ullage data's off the bottom of the scale, and the riders are a 2 percent effect at most. Just run the fixes and let's all stop yapping at each other, eh-hrf? >>

<< Yo to that. >>

<< Yo. >>

<< Hau. >>

<< Go for it. >>

<< Finefinesuperfine. >>

<< Bang 'em. >>

<< plusg00d. >>

<< Ka'tai! >>

<< Ee. >>

<< On the bell. >>

<< Punch it. >>

<< Hup. >>

Another pause. << Apply and execute, >> comes Flashgordon's voice.

Instantly, the pods roll over and settle toward the Elissa's hull, scattered widely over her various surfaces. They steer well clear of hardpoints, obvious damage areas, and rider mounts. The rotating hulls slow, halt, reverse a bit, adjust themselves, and reach downward, grabbing and holding to the hull like a squid grasping the nose of a whale for battle. The Elissa rings with multiple soft, muffled BOOMs as the pods attach.

<< Scan, >> comes the next order.

Almost instantly, PATER says, _The pods are scanning our hull with multiple-wavelength sweeps. The pattern indicates that all pods are coordinated from a single source._

"Looking for the sore spots," Stubbs says.

"What if we're ALL sore spots," 'Vouf wonders aloud.

The scan complete, the pods seem to hunker down against the Elissa's hull. A few sideslip a meter or two, change position, or rotate slightly, then reattach. The cool voice says, << Elissa, we stand ready. Cut power and prepare for tow. >>

"Understood, Flashgordon." 'Vouf barks. He hits the All-Call. << All hands, this is the Captain. Our ride is here, and they're getting ready to move us. I want any and all damage that occurs under tow reported to me IMMEDIATELY, no matter how small it may seem. >>

<< Engineering, we're about to get underway. You know the drill. Science, you're about to lose your sensors except for the rider feeds...sorry 'bout that. Security, maintain current alert status. Contact, get a look at our new companions and check the databases for decorative traditions and heraldic significance. >>

'Vouf then keys to the pod channel. "Elissa reports ready for tow. Be gentle with us, folks, it's our first time." He manages a small smile.

Flashgordon's voice replies, << Understood. Elissa, please report any strain or damage immediately. Brace for acceleration... now. >>

With that, the pods' fusion thrusters flare to life. Slowly, steadily, they glow hotter and hotter, brighter and brighter. With a shuddering moan, the Elissa vibrates for a moment and then is still...but the ship starts to acquire a definite sense of off-axis gravity as the tender begins to accelerate without her dampers, and the view out the port begins to change. Almost imperceptibly at first, then more noticeably, the magnified view of the ring of Centerpoint begins to grow larger.

Two minutes later, the weightlessness returns as the acceleration eases off and the Elissa settles into her cruising speed of 300 kph.

"Now we sit back and enjoy the ride," Stubbs sighs. "Nothing to do but watch for damage until we're in drydock."

Bhyarrvouf nods, and hits the All-Call. << All personnel, attention. This is the Captain. We are now under tow, and operating on a combination of batteries and piped power from the riders. We have computers, commo, some sensors, and pretty much tsakha else... including life support. The air's going to be breathable for quite a while, but it's gonna get cold and stale in a few hours, and we have a little over six hours to go before we dock. So enjoy the air while you can...when the scrubber alarms top one percent see-oh-two, it's back in the fishbowls for us all. >>

He sighs. << This is going to be our first real rest since the Jumpout alarm sounded... >> A ghost of a canine chuckle-- << ...just over eight hours ago, if you can believe it. I want all Team heads to coordinate with their staffs to allow eased duty schedules, and all personnel to rest while they can. Suit protocol is still recommended for all hands. Off-duty personnel can coordinate with rider crews for permission to pop suits if desired, but if you're on call, be ready to suit up in a hurry. Bhyarrvouf out. >>

And with that, 'Vouf sits back down in his chair, and calls up a personal display. One by one, he aims cameras at the various scuttlepods on the hull, looking at them with care and scratching his chin or ears reflectively. He is silent for some time.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Copyright © 1997, 1998