10 - Bluntnose
"…And that's why we called him the Pastor!" Gorman's punchline rang across the bridge. He reclined back in his seat with laughter.
White was absolutely unfazed. When Gorman opened a teary eye to gauge his reaction, all that greeted him was a blank expression and two bright blue ones staring right back. His laughter quickly faded.
"Lighten up, Stone," Gorman remarked, to the pilot's eventual sigh. "I guess the joke doesn't translate well."
"Speaking of not translating well, Commander…" the Lieutenant scratched his beard, and prepared to perform a long-awaited explanation, but was rudely interrupted by a set of approaching footsteps from the bridge's far end.
"Are we there yet?" rang the groggy voice of Zaz. She was stretching out her arms above her, revealing a white t-shirt with the letter I, then a heart, then the letter E with an apostrophe written across it.
Kalu and his company green jumpsuit followed suit.
"Not quite," White stated. "I think you'll agree, Commander, now that we're all awake it's a good time to prepare before we get there." From one of the cockpit's dashboards he grabbed the small blinking object one of Captain Chen's lackeys had handed him. "Catch," he quickly lobbed it in Kalu's direction. After a bit of barely awake fumbling, he held it up and examined it. White interrupted him before he could reach for his omni-tool with a cough, instead pointing to a pedestal adjacent to the captain's chair.
Gorman now understood the device to be some sort of digital storage unit. As far as he knew, those sorts of things only got smaller as technology improved – but as he also knew from experience, if it can be lost, people operating under you will always find a new and inventive way to lose it. Make it bigger and you don't decrease the chance of it being lost, but you'll have much more to shout at them about how one could lose something that size.
A three-dimensional display flickered into life above the pedestal. All the crew moved to gather around what it was showing – a glowing white sphere. The longer Gorman looked at it, the more he began to realize that it was their destination.
"Wow, look at that," he whispered, impressed. White held a finger to his lips.
After a brief moment to observe the sphere, a surprisingly youthful voice began from the pedestal's hitherto hidden speakers. The audio quality left much to be desired for something aboard a spaceship filled with all sorts of technological marvels.
"Is…is this thing on? It is? Oh sh-, I mean, okay sir Captain sir, I'm Specialist Barzani, speaking to you on behalf of Rear Admiral Mikhailovich, 63rd Scout Flotilla. Assuming you are Captain Chen, that is. If you're not, I'm probably fired."
The Lieutenant rolled his eyes. Everyone else was listening intently. A red dot appeared on the sphere, accompanied by a set of numeral coordinates.
"Unless the tech doesn't work, in which case I'm probably also fired, you should be seeing the coordinates of a base on the planet Mavigon. Not a nice place. Level 1 Cold Hazard. Anyway, the Admiral's got intel that a criminal syndicate set up shop here, and if that wasn't bad enough, they're working with the batarians."
The sound of rustling papers could be heard. Natural to Gorman, but the others couldn't help but tilt their heads in confusion. Paper in the twenty-second century, ironically, must mean that somebody wants this off the books. The only digital record must be here, neatly slotted into the bridge's pedestal.
"Now, the Admiral wants you to blast them from the heavens until the problem disappears, but we both know that's just his daily chest-pounding talking. So send someone to find out what they're up to, and put a stop to it if the threat is real. That's the bottom line."
The voice cut out momentarily, giving the crew a moment to consider. This was all the Alliance was going on? An Admiral's hunch? Perhaps Gorman would fit right in with these guys after all. Right as Kalu put his hand forward to eject the device, the recording continued for one last message.
"Oh, one more thing. Admiral Mikhailovich is expecting to see you next time you're at the North Star. VIP section of the officers' club. Password is 'hack it out'. Now, how do I shut this thing-"
With that, the display fizzled out. Kalu yanked out the device, which was now itself glowing red with coordinates across it. He handed it to the pilot.
"What do you think, Commander?" questioned Zaz. She was perhaps subconsciously shaking her head. "They're really throwing us into the dark."
"How soon will we be there, Lieutenant?" Gorman shifted towards White.
"Soon enough. We need to get ready – armed and armored. Level 1 Cold Hazard's no joke."
"Can't be that bad, right?" winced Gorman. He knew all too well that they only had two sets of armor between them, a McFinley green set and a jungle camouflage set from Ray's smuggled stash. "I'll wear a few layers."
"In temperatures of minus a hundred degrees?"
"Oh."
"There's four of us and two suits," now Kalu had come to a similar revelation. As per usual, he calmly trended to the easy solution. "Simple. Two of us will have to stay on the ship."
"That'll have to do, it seems," Gorman conceded. "Any volunteers to stay on the ship once we land?"
"Hey, hey, I'm not landing anywhere close to that base," White interjected with his first laugh of the day. Out of everything, Gorman's ridiculous idea was what finally got a chuckle from him. The eyes of the other three crewmates were now on the pilot. Going for a brief stroll from ship to base in severely freezing temperatures was one thing, but nobody was ever going to volunteer to get there entirely on foot. White gestured beneath them, to the lower deck. "We'll take the vehicle in the cargo bay."
"Will it protect against the cold?" Gorman was quick to enquire. White nodded, and the new idea forming in the Commander's head took shape. "Let's go see what kind of wheels we're talking about."
It wasn't long before the crew had descended to the cargo hold, and with a combined heave dragged off the tarp from the ship's complimentary metal beast. Gasps filled the deck.
"Of course it's one of these," White shook his head in disbelief at the big wheeled machine before them. It matched the ship's color scheme but not its rounded corners, instead it was a long, blocky contraption with square headlights, the tiniest slits for windows and a gullwing door at its rear you had to use a stepladder to enter. It would have been unsurprising for it to have square wheels, but luckily common sense prevailed in that department. Gorman was equally stunned as the pilot. It was as if one allowed a brutalist architect to design a family car – and gave them high-grade narcotics to ensure a job well done. All they had to hope now was that it was fueled, and that its twin cannons mounted on its roof could do their job.
"You recognize this…thing?" Zaz laughed. "Look at the size of those rims!"
They were fairly large, and proudly hexagon-shaped.
"The M33 Bluntnose," determined White. "Incredible! I thought only maybe five were ever built."
Its name was fitting – the front was as flat as an iron, no space for hood ornaments whatsoever. The concept of aerodynamics was obviously not a concern to its designer.
"For good reason, I imagine," sneered Kalu.
"Quite right, I'm afraid. Unlike its successor, if one arrived at an incline the Bluntnose had a tendency to smack the wall instead of climb it."
"You're talking about the Mako?" Zaz chimed in again. "I've seen the vids about it. That thing can hurdle ninety degrees like it's nothing,"
"Right now all we need to worry about is a hundred degrees," Gorman put his metaphorical foot down, as well as his real one on the stepladder to test out its sturdiness. He raised his pointing hand with purpose – it was time to take command.
"Lieutenant, we're arriving shortly?"
"Yes, within the hour I believe."
"Kalu, Zaz, time to get suited. I'll take the wheel of this hunk of metal here. Lieutenant, you'll man the ship while we're gone."
"Kevin, why can't I-" White attempted to protest.
"We'll keep in radio contact, Kalu told me earlier there's a way to hook up my earpiece. I trust you to keep the Shackleton safe, and besides, the last time you shot a gun you almost cracked your head open."
"Of course, Commander," White relented.
The crew dispersed, preparing as best they could with what little they had.
A few waves of and taps on Kalu's omni-tool and Gorman's antique translator now had the ability to communicate with his own device, and the ship. He and Zaz took special care to get their armor on right and tight. No chances taken at Level 1, evidently. The Commander donned his own clothing with as much confidence as a man going into an ungodly blizzard wearing khakis could have. He weighed out bringing his gloves along – in a worst case scenario the difference they would make might be an extra millisecond before hypothermia. He pulled them on just in case.
One question answered, another appearing – that of weaponry. Between them were two Lancer rifles, White's beloved sniper and the Commander's own Walther. If he was going to be serving as designated driver, there was no need to overcomplicate things by hauling a heavy sniper. The Walther's operational limits never accounted for anything like this, either. He felt a great wrongness down to his core to be unarmed for a mission like this, but a sacrifice for the greater good it would have to be.
In fact, while he was stashing away valuable possessions for his return, he might as well empty his pockets. What little handgun ammo he had left joined the Walther on his bunk, as well as empty magazines for his since departed M16. With all that had happened, he had forgotten some of the…other trinkets he was carrying this whole time. Firstly, a letter in his trouser pocket from Director Whyte. Not addressed to him, but to whoever or whatever was on an intercept course with Earth. One message, one sentence, translated and repeated across three dozen languages for Gorman to yell any potential 'aliens' until they either understood or started shooting. It was never used.
After finding his BlackBerry mobile phone – screen cracked and battery completely empty – a slim leather wallet slid neatly out of a vest pocket. A credit card and a hundred bucks first caught his eye. Worth millions now? One could dream. He dragged the cash out to reveal a set of cards with varying degrees of importance. Front and center was a loyalty card for his favorite coffee chain. What a shame, he thought – only one order away from a free cappuccino. Next was his official agency ID card, featuring a younger, sterner man with a sharp haircut and a date of birth sometime in July. After that was a driver's license, nice to have but hardly qualifying him for the Bluntnose (not to mention seriously expired), and then the business card of that one pushy entrepreneur with an exaggerated accent he met at an agency-sponsored convention once. Named McFinley, of all things – small galaxy.
The final item in Gorman's wallet was inarguably the most important. Not a card of any sort, but a photo of a woman with short hair and diamonds for eyes. Gorman closed the wallet and placed it on the bunk. There was a time and a place, it was neither now nor here.
It was time to check on the rest of the crew, but before that, he examined the last pocket on his vest. Fortune smiled upon him, his aviator sunglasses were intact and ready. Weather be damned, he was going to drive that Bluntnose to the base and he was going to look cool doing it.
Gorman looked left, Gorman looked right, Gorman's crew were nowhere in sight. He took off the shades. Nope, they were still gone. It was his ears that he'd have to follow, and a murmuring coming from the bridge.
"Should we get Gorman in here? After all, it's a historic moment, he'll want to see it," asked Kalu.
"A great idea, if you consider answering a hundred questions therapeutic. He really does think he's from the past," snarked White.
"So you don't believe him? They don't make guns like his today."
"I'm not rushing to any conclusions. It's what kept me sane, and I suggest you do the same."
Then something happened that caused them all to groan.
"Can't you make it louder?" the undeniable voice of Zaz piped up.
"Almost had it, come on…" Kalu's frustration got clearer as the Commander finally started his approach. He had a few things to say to the Lieutenant about 'rushing to conclusions', but changed his mind once he saw what was going on.
His three crewmates were huddled around one of the glowing monitors to the side of the cockpit. There was a picture coming through alongside jumbled audio, but it crackled and buzzed in and out like a television from the 80s the Commander was familiar with. Colors swept through the bridge for moments at a time, blues and lilacs. For but a moment Gorman made out a figure, standing on a balcony, trees around them and trees somehow underneath them too. There was a large crowd watching from alcoves all around like some sort of opera performance. Other elevated figures were watching – but before the camera panned to them, the screen screeched with static.
While all this was happening on the monitor, Kalu was frantically tapping away at his omni-tool. He was twisting holographic dials left and right, evidently trying his hardest to hone in on the broadcast.
"What's going on?" was all Gorman could muster in terms of an intelligent question.
The crew were too transfixed on the stream of vague images and garbled words to respond. The image became clear for another brief second, showing an old man with a receding hairline in a strange tan suit giving a speech. The audio cleaned up enough for coherent words to get through, although lagging behind what they were seeing by a noticeable amount.
"…It's about time…milestone for humanity…seat on the Council…full confidence in Commander…"
The feed devolved into static again. Kalu swore.
"Get it back!" White ordered.
"You try locking in to a comm buoy's frequency when it's light-years away and prioritized for top military chatter!" Kalu retorted.
Gorman had enough of this. He jostled through and tapped a button on the side of the monitor. The static cut.
"Kevin, what the hell-" White began, before locking onto the confused, frustrated gaze of the Commander. "The ceremony was pretty much over, anyway."
"What ceremony?" Gorman questioned to the group.
"The first human Spectre," exhaled Zaz in awe. "Never thought I'd see the day."
"That's a huge deal, Commander," Kalu tried to explain. "We've been begging the Council to let one of us join for as long as we've wanted a spot on the Council itself."
"Who are the Spectres? And who are the Council I keep hearing about?"
Kalu realized his mistake. The last time he gave the Commander a slew of useful information, he passed out for half a day.
"There's a lot to know, but we'll tell you everything when the time is right. I promise. Right now, however…" Kalu gave White a discrete nudge with his elbow, "We've made it to Mavigon and should get ready, right?"
White turned and looked out the cockpit's window.
"…Yeah, you three should get to the Bluntnose. Stay in radio contact."
Kalu made for the cargo bay, White for his reclining seat. This left Gorman, mouth ajar, hands raised and palms out, standing there in frustration. At least Zaz was still with him.
"You still don't believe that I'm from the past?" Gorman asked.
"You're definitely missing two centuries of common knowledge, that's for sure," Zaz sighed. "Let's get this 'mission' over with." She too walked away through the doorway and down the steps to the cargo bay.
Gorman stepped towards the front window. Sure enough, a small pale orb just like the one from the pedestal earlier was barely visible somewhere extraordinarily far away. His mind was whirring from a fresh delivery of new burning questions and his new 'friends' neglecting to give him simple answers. He was their Commander! He should be allowed to bombard his crew with questions at any time! Screw Mavigon, Feros and the so-called 'Council', he thought, perhaps all he needed to do was steer the Shackleton towards the nearest space internet café and get some closure the tried and tested twenty-first century way.
In an act of defiance, he marched to the crew quarters and grabbed the Walther. Maybe it was him taking the need to defend himself physically, instead of verbally. Maybe it was a comfort to have something he was familiar with on him at all times. He could only hope it wouldn't get too exposed down there – the warranty was long, long gone.
He then trudged down the stairs to see the rear bay doors of the Bluntnose were folded open. Grabbing a handle to help him up, he mounted the stepladder to peer inside. Like a true military troop transport there were a half dozen seats facing each other on either side. At the front, a solitary driver's seat. Kalu and Zaz arrived from around the deck.
"Ready to go?" Kalu asked.
The Commander answered by fully clambering in. It was hardly a spacious truck, metal floor clanking with each step, headroom always a concern, but one foot at a time he managed to slump into the driver's seat. Finally, some good news – there was a steering wheel, a handbrake, and some foot pedals – his expired drivers' license might not be his undoing after all. A pair of fastening straps around his chest slotted with a click. He'd test out the unfamiliar buttons once they hit the ground, given that surely one of them turned on the heated seats, and another one fired the big guns up top.
The Bluntnose's passengers followed behind him, standing their weapons against the inner metalwork and fumbling to get their own straps secure.
Out of nowhere, a voice crackled into life.
"Testing, testing, un, deux, trois. You're reading me?"
"Loud and clear," responded Zaz.
"Excellent. Starting descent now."
A rumbling started, gradually picking up intensity. Gorman took a deep breath. His caution would have to be betrayed just once, as he slowly pressed the safest-looking button he saw, one marked 'START'. Over the sound of the ship, an engine roared into life. The heavy metal plates where the windscreen on any normal car would be flickered into a picture of the inside of the cargo bay…and it's bay door slowly creeping open. A blinding white poured in, until it was all that could be seen outside.
"Sensors are seeing the base," rang the pilot through the radio.
"Get us close and set us down, Lieutenant," commanded Gorman.
"Impossible."
"Impossible?"
"As I feared – turrets outside. Give me a second…"
Gorman could feel his heartbeat start to pick up speed. The rumbling was also growing in strength, swaying the Bluntnose from side to side. The Commander shifted his head back for a moment. Kalu was tugging on his straps, Zaz holding her helmet tight.
"That lying son of a…"
"Lieutenant?" Gorman had to shout now over the noise.
"This is where we part, Commander! Approaching drop in ten seconds! Dix, neuf…"
Gorman's heart sank. The pilot's countdown was barely audible at this point. Ten mental seconds passed. He pushed down on the pedal. The Bluntnose lurched forward.
"Bonne chance! Don't forget the lever!" squeaked through his earpiece.
Gorman slammed down on the pedal. The truck accelerated with ferocity, speeding off into the great white nothingness.