No sooner was Henry out of the sick bay that the intercom, right next to the door, spat his name.
"Ensign Levinsky, Ensign Navarro-Jackson, Ensign Carter and Flight Lieutenant Melnik are requested in the CIC immediately…" It repeated itself twice with no change in intonation or variation of phrasing. An Adjutant.
Henry wanted to get himself a PDA from the quartermaster before sinking back into his books, but the voice said immediately and he decided against it.
The Combat Information Center of a Minotaur rested atop a short tower and could be accessed only by an elevator, in which he found himself crammed between Levinsky and Carter, both former marines, both built like gorillas. Flight Lieutenant Melnik, a Viking pilot who'd lost an eye and his nerve, also stood in the elevator with them, but was given plenty of space. Marines, Jackson first, help Viking pilot in very high regard. They cleared the skies of flyers then came crashing down with them in the mud, soaking up and brushing off what would have been killing blows to them before taking off again like avenging angels.
Henry had never seen a Viking in action, but the stories alone filled him with awe.
On top of the command tower was the CIC, AI core and Captain's private quarters, except not on the Rubicon, for Commodore DuPont slept in her office and used the same sand showers the crew did. The captain's quarters had thus been recycled as another command center for remote controlled units.
DuPont herself welcomed the four men on her bridge with nothing more than an off-handed "At ease. Eva?"
And the intercom buzzed to life once more as the Commodore leaned on a tactical map, taking notes on a paper pad.
"Welcome, gentlemen." The voice droned, causing the Marines to at the wall. Jackson and Melnik kept their eyes on the holographic map instead. "Dominion Naval Intelligence has temporarily assigned you to mechanised operations; your task will be to remotely operate a specific mechanical unit. Assignments are as follow:
Ensign Jonathan Levinsky, call sign Leviathan, assigned a lot of twelve Widow mines, sector nine.
Ensign Emile Carter, call sign Mailman, assigned a lot of four Predator-00 attack drones, sector eight.
Ensign Henry Navarro-Jackson, call sign Hero, assigned one ER-1 unit, sector nine.
Flight Lieutenant Nikolai Melnik, call sign Maestro, assigned one Raven support drone, sector ten.
Eradicator? Damn, these did not come cheap! Why couldn't he start easy, with the practically fully automated Predators or Widows, like Carter and Levinsky got?
He almost asked DuPont directly, but thought about it some more and understood some of the logic; a lot of the fleet was lost during that mess between Mengsk and his son, a lot of hardware was lost, and not just ship. AIs could be pumped out by the truckloads, whereas pilots for siege tanks and air superiority fighters had to be trained…
An Eradicator could take care of itself for the most part, the AI had been optimised so just about anyone with video game experience could handle the beast. Auto-repair, reloading, target acquisition and navigation were semi-automatized, requiring only that the operator push a button and that's why they picked a bunch of trainees for this job, as qualified personnel could be better used elsewhere.
Henry had been given a quick initiation to sentry bots and their operation both by hypno training and from his engineering manual, meaning he had the know-how to do the job, but strongly doubted he would be any good at it.
Not that it was his call in any event.
The four men crossed the CIC without exchanging a single word, a row of green LEDs on the floor guiding them step by step to the right bulkhead, like cattle being lead to the slaughterhouse.
It took them straight in the re-purposed cabin, the one DuPont should have been sleeping in, and any evidence it had once been a place to live was now buried under 3D screens, power cables, status reports and, where there should have been a bed, an holographic display of grids one alpha through ten theta floated, spinning lazily two feet off the ground.
Warfield wanted this plain secured, but could not spare the men, so it was up to the Navy.
Call signs flashed on four of the seven terminals, the other three already occupied, and Henry sat at the one marked Hero, finding himself in between Melnik and a M.U.L.E. Operator.
The ER-1 had not deployed yet and his first task would be to drive it in the drop pod.
First of all, however, Jackson ran a system diagnostic, as he had been taught to, though mostly as an excuse to get acquainted with the controls.
A joystick to the right controlled the robot's torso and weapons. He could look up and down with it or spin three-sixty degrees, though he did not try that in the confined space of Hangar bay six.
The terminal directly in front of the joystick relayed a crystal clear feed from the Eradicator's head camera, while its neighbor, to the left and locater behind another, barer joystick, displayed the 'bumber' camera, so the operator can see where he is going even when shooting at something in the opposite direction.
In between these was a simple keyboard and a black screen on which Henry could type complex instructions and receive diagnostic results. A tiny corner of that screen displayed an ER-1's outlines, completely green to show there were no damages to report.
Finally, Jackson slipped a thick set of earmuffs on and waited for the robot's audio and radio hardware to come online.
All systems popped on the black screen, all green, and a cacophony of static and people yelling instructions was relayed through the headset.
"Hero, online." He called as crew members steered clear of the massive robot's path.
"Easy, there, Hero," called a female voice in his ear, "less pressure on that joystick.
The black screen identified her as Sunder, a Petty Officer, her own robot, an A.R.E.S. towered over his as she deftly drove it in a pod. "Take your time, it's you're first time, don't feel bad if it takes a few tries to get it in." The malice in her voice caused him to look back at her pod, but it was sealed and even then, looking at the Warbot would not have helped him understand the meaning of that sentence.
He followed directions from an Adjutant; a little to the left, a bit to the right… A little further. All clear!
And he rammed the left cannon against the top corner of his pod's frame.
"Eva," He spoke, soothingly as the Adjutant announced a malfunction with the hangar's sensor array, "stop helping me, please?
-Understood, Hero, discontinuing assistance until otherwise instructed."
Sparks flew off the floor as hardened threads switched to reverse. Someone from the crew told him to ease up, but Jackson was done already by then, he modified his course a little and threw his Eradicator into the steel womb. The cannons were once again mistreated, but all systems remained green and the pod sealed shut without problems. A little counter in the black screen's top right corner told him he had a hundred seconds before drop.
Melnik frowned when he saw Henry get up from his seat and over to the Raven pilot's one. "You over the bone trench?" Asked the former Marine, somewhat sheepishly.
"Yeah," Melnik typed a few commands and bits of dead Zerg filled all three of his screens, "Sector ten, why?
-Can you see sector nine from there?" The man typed a few more commands and wiggled his joysticks,
Spinning the cameras around and toward the plateau, beyond the trench.
"Barely," he replied, though Jackson could see that already, "you don't trust the ComSat sweeps?
-I have the utmost confidence in our military's ability for screwing up."
The old pilot did not think him funny; with a glare and a nod, indicated to his younger fellow it was time to go hide elsewhere.
The Mule driver, a pale, freckled redhead with glasses thick as viewports, sent him a chat message the moment he returned to his place.
Wall-E: Coming from DNI's new pet, that is hilarious xP
He glanced over to his right, trying to catch the other pilot's eyes, but could only see the back of a terminal, which taught him something new; he could pull the screens forward so they encompassed him like a cockpit's canopy, or push them back against the wall. He pulled them to his sides, isolating himself in a little bubble of statics, status reports and computer imagery.
Hero: I'm nobodys pet.
Wall-E: Yes you are!
He felt like back at school, when he and the other kids would bicker about Confederate Marines being better than light infantry or Ghosts or just about anyone else in the universe. It usually degraded into personal assaults, such as "You're dumb!" or "You're gay!" The last of which once earned him a humiliating response; "No, I'm not, and if I was I would not be insulted by it, that makes you both stupid and homophobic, and your argument is still stupid."
Imran Zerkeyev and Jackson had… Well, not ever been friends since, but they somehow remained in touch a decade and a half later.
Hero: There a point to this?
Wall-E: This as in, this conversation, or as in, this whole operation?
The countdown seemed to take forever; sixty seconds left, then thirty seconds to reach the surface… He could just ignore this 'Wall-E', but that would be like conceding the point…
Hero: What do u want?
Wall-E: A million credits? How about you?
He thought about answering something violent, like "Your spleen!" but decided against it.
Hero: I jus wanna do my job right.
Wall-E: Aw, isn't that a cute pet? :3
Hero: Dafuq is your problem?
Wall-E: Dafuq? Now you're quoting some advanced literature, aren't you?
The counter ran out and Henry closed the chat window. In thirty seconds, he would be driving a tank-sized robot in the middle of Zerg-infested terrain.