The Rock
Posted: 2007-10-17 05:17am
The Rock
This is a short story from some point in a Fic that I’m intermittently and unenthusiastically writing. I just decided I wanted to try a normal narrative structure, instead of the unwieldy method I was trying. I’ll probably change the dates as time goes on, or if I ever put together a definitive timeline.
January 16, 2063
0516 GMT
Phobos Naval Station
Lieutenant Samuels checked his watch again. First squad should have the civilians from fleet repair rousted and on their way to the evac point. The fleet was withdrawing and the personnel on Phobos needed to be evacuated and the base scuttled. The aliens had let Io surrender, but Fleet Command wasn’t counting on their magnanimity when it came to civilians. Besides these were strategic assets. Space trained repair crews weren’t exactly plentiful, especially if the outlying spacedocks in the Belt fell.
“Sergeant Hernandez, what’s the status on your dormitories?”
“First dorm clear sir. Johnson and Bush are shepherding them back to the docking bay.” The sergeant’s voice came through cracked with a few discontinuities. The cursed moonlet had too many metal deposits which meant that communications inside the facility were spotty. There were whole wings where radio traffic was non-existent. Fortunately they weren’t supposed to defend the facility, just evacuate it.
“Fine. Hurry it up with the second dorm though. Fleet keeps riding my ass to get the specialists out post haste. There’s a war on you know.”
“Yes Sir I do. But we’re under combat conditions; no one gets out of their dorm without a vac-suit and charged O2 tanks. Some of these guys still haven’t broken their suits out of the factory seals.”
“Acknowledged Sergeant. Do the best you can.” Humanity was militarily engaged with an alien race; and the damned civilians didn’t even bother to inspect and prep their safety gear.
“Sir it’s Hernandez again, we’ve got the personnel from the second dorm suited up, and on their way to the docking bay.”
“What’s the headcount?”
“Sixteen sir, and all the names on my list were accounted for.”
“Good work sergeant. Have you heard anything from Johnson’s squad?”
“No sir. The last radio transmission I heard from them was when they went to get the base maintenance personnel. Have you lost radio contact with them too?”
“Yeah. Since his charges haven’t shown up yet, I’m assuming he got lost.” This wasn’t a sleight on Johnson’s skill as a squad leader, but more of a commentary on the problems in the warren of tunnels that had been delved into Phobos. The official maps included hallways that had never been completed, and neglected the actual connecting halls, making Phobos un-navigable for non-natives. The navy had tried intermittently to correct the situation but the various corporations that staffed and used the installation effectively blocked any “Naval interference” in civilian affairs. “Alright, I’ll see if I can’t find him and move things along. Just get those specialists to the dock.”
Unfortunately the base layout didn’t make it easy to evacuate the personnel. There were dorms all over the installation. Maybe it made sense when the first halls had been carved out to segregate personnel by functionality. But at the moment it was just another nuisance and delay at a time when delays could be life threatening.
Samuels motioned for his squad to follow and began bounding down the halls in the direction he had sent Johnson. He gestured for a halt when he spotted a figure in the orange of base maintenance. The name stenciled on his faceplate read “Nielsen”.
“I’m going to need you to direct me to where the weapons and base maintenance people bunk. Then I need you to haul ass over to the docking bay for evacuation.”
The suited figure nodded and motioned for Samuels and his squad to follow, leading them through side passages and by storage units until they reached the nerve center of the facility. Samuels supposed it was appropriate that maintenance bunked where they worked, but it was definitely not a convenient evacuation route.
“Rico, you go roust the civilians in the left dorm. I’ll take the dorm on the right.”
Privately Samuels was dreading the thought of waking up confused and disoriented civilians and trying to create order. But on opening the door, Samuels noted that this group seemed to have their gear ready to move. Maybe keeping the base in working order had instilled some sense of its inherent fragility and their own mortality on the station personnel. Or maybe they were just more disciplined. Whatever the cause Samuels was gratified to discover that in five minutes he had these men ready to move back to the docking bay. Exiting into the corridor he saw that the men the adjoining rooms were similarly prepared.
His elation quickly dimmed, however, as he tried to reach Hernandez. “Sergeant Hernandez, do you copy. Come in Sergeant.” No response but white noise.
This is a short story from some point in a Fic that I’m intermittently and unenthusiastically writing. I just decided I wanted to try a normal narrative structure, instead of the unwieldy method I was trying. I’ll probably change the dates as time goes on, or if I ever put together a definitive timeline.
January 16, 2063
0516 GMT
Phobos Naval Station
Lieutenant Samuels checked his watch again. First squad should have the civilians from fleet repair rousted and on their way to the evac point. The fleet was withdrawing and the personnel on Phobos needed to be evacuated and the base scuttled. The aliens had let Io surrender, but Fleet Command wasn’t counting on their magnanimity when it came to civilians. Besides these were strategic assets. Space trained repair crews weren’t exactly plentiful, especially if the outlying spacedocks in the Belt fell.
“Sergeant Hernandez, what’s the status on your dormitories?”
“First dorm clear sir. Johnson and Bush are shepherding them back to the docking bay.” The sergeant’s voice came through cracked with a few discontinuities. The cursed moonlet had too many metal deposits which meant that communications inside the facility were spotty. There were whole wings where radio traffic was non-existent. Fortunately they weren’t supposed to defend the facility, just evacuate it.
“Fine. Hurry it up with the second dorm though. Fleet keeps riding my ass to get the specialists out post haste. There’s a war on you know.”
“Yes Sir I do. But we’re under combat conditions; no one gets out of their dorm without a vac-suit and charged O2 tanks. Some of these guys still haven’t broken their suits out of the factory seals.”
“Acknowledged Sergeant. Do the best you can.” Humanity was militarily engaged with an alien race; and the damned civilians didn’t even bother to inspect and prep their safety gear.
“Sir it’s Hernandez again, we’ve got the personnel from the second dorm suited up, and on their way to the docking bay.”
“What’s the headcount?”
“Sixteen sir, and all the names on my list were accounted for.”
“Good work sergeant. Have you heard anything from Johnson’s squad?”
“No sir. The last radio transmission I heard from them was when they went to get the base maintenance personnel. Have you lost radio contact with them too?”
“Yeah. Since his charges haven’t shown up yet, I’m assuming he got lost.” This wasn’t a sleight on Johnson’s skill as a squad leader, but more of a commentary on the problems in the warren of tunnels that had been delved into Phobos. The official maps included hallways that had never been completed, and neglected the actual connecting halls, making Phobos un-navigable for non-natives. The navy had tried intermittently to correct the situation but the various corporations that staffed and used the installation effectively blocked any “Naval interference” in civilian affairs. “Alright, I’ll see if I can’t find him and move things along. Just get those specialists to the dock.”
Unfortunately the base layout didn’t make it easy to evacuate the personnel. There were dorms all over the installation. Maybe it made sense when the first halls had been carved out to segregate personnel by functionality. But at the moment it was just another nuisance and delay at a time when delays could be life threatening.
Samuels motioned for his squad to follow and began bounding down the halls in the direction he had sent Johnson. He gestured for a halt when he spotted a figure in the orange of base maintenance. The name stenciled on his faceplate read “Nielsen”.
“I’m going to need you to direct me to where the weapons and base maintenance people bunk. Then I need you to haul ass over to the docking bay for evacuation.”
The suited figure nodded and motioned for Samuels and his squad to follow, leading them through side passages and by storage units until they reached the nerve center of the facility. Samuels supposed it was appropriate that maintenance bunked where they worked, but it was definitely not a convenient evacuation route.
“Rico, you go roust the civilians in the left dorm. I’ll take the dorm on the right.”
Privately Samuels was dreading the thought of waking up confused and disoriented civilians and trying to create order. But on opening the door, Samuels noted that this group seemed to have their gear ready to move. Maybe keeping the base in working order had instilled some sense of its inherent fragility and their own mortality on the station personnel. Or maybe they were just more disciplined. Whatever the cause Samuels was gratified to discover that in five minutes he had these men ready to move back to the docking bay. Exiting into the corridor he saw that the men the adjoining rooms were similarly prepared.
His elation quickly dimmed, however, as he tried to reach Hernandez. “Sergeant Hernandez, do you copy. Come in Sergeant.” No response but white noise.