Author: Dachande[DR]			Viewing: Chapter 1

They'd already been out of dock for a few weeks when they got the call- a mining outpost, three days away. Thirty one technicians trapped in the infested area, completely out of contact for over eight hours. Deep 4 was populated by a few hundred machine techs and some low-level management, a Company outpost like a hundred others; this one melted dirt to get to silurium, whatever that hell that was. Dachande didn't particularly give a damn, truth be known. He and his boys weren't called in to give a rat's ass about minerals...or miners, for that matter. What mattered was that they were now twenty minutes out, probably no mroe than an hour till party time. Which meant it was time to suit up. Dachande took a swig of coffee and tossed the cup into the recycler on his way out of mess, gritting his teehslightly as he walked beneath the cheaply framed doorway. Although he couldn't hear it, he knew that a soft mechanical beep went off in ops as he passed beneath the frame, recording codes from his surgical implant. He sighed inwardly as he headed down the dim and sweaty B corridor, toward lockers; it still bothered him, even after all this time. One of the many annoying consequences of a felony conviction, he supposed. Even the Corps wouldn't take any chances on their leased "volunteer" ships. If any of their little birdies wanted to fly away ( or say slit the captain's throat during a psychotic episode), these ships were set up to know all the gory details. Expensive in terms of equipment, but not as bad as trying to hire civilians for this sort of work... The open 'com interrupted his wanderings. "Dach, this is Diablo. tell the boys that we're looking at fifteen minutes till break; I wouldn't want Bailey to choke on his sugar rush or anything." Dach spoke as he walked, grinning. "It's gonna take more than a candy bar to kill the Man." Commander "Diablo" Izzard chuckled gruffly, sounding muffled through the ships aging communications system. "I heard that. Keep an ear up for the count; I'll leave shipwide on." Standard procedure. Dachande didn't bother answering as he hung a left toward the unloading ramp, down a much shorter hallway-but as poorly lit and ventilated as the last. Even with Max aboard, H/K teams didn't warrant the best of ships-although the Nemesis wasn;t the worst he'd experienced. Not a luxury liner, but one of his first stints had been on a real shithole, a poured-plastic job, the Exeter ( this was before some genius got the idea to capitalize on "team spirit" by naming the newer breed of H/K "cruisers" shit like Enmity and Wrath). Hell, compared to the Exeter, the Nemesis was a wet dream; at least there was room to stretch here without putting your fist in somebody's face. He stopped in front of the suit-up area, took a deep breath. When this one was finished, they'd be headed for a full week of R&R, their first real break in months. Most stops were overnighters, supply pickups or transfers; they could all use the rest. In spite of himself, he could already feel the adrenaline starting to tingle through his veins, singing to the glories of the hunt; apparently, his body wasn't hip to how crazy all of this was. Not that it ever had been; a couple of years ago, he couldn't wait for the feel of a hot pulse in his hands, set against the hissing shrieks of the enemy. A few years before that, smugling and gangbanging were his drugs of choice, anything that spelled out trouble and a chance to screw with death; oh yeah, he'd been a hardass once. Now? Now he watched the time, marking out the months he had left until parole. The skin over his implant was itching lately, and he wanted it gone. Eight more after this and time was served. Starting now, numbnuts; you have a crew to lead and they're both looking to you to help keep them alive. you gonna do that, or are you gonna stand here trippin' all day in the damn hall? "Hail Mary," he mumbled, and tapped the entry keypad. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Second Lieutenant Tina "Wu" Lara ran her hands across the keys and sent the first in a series of hailers to Traon, Deep 4 specifically. She barely had to think about it anymore, practically muscle memory: Weyland/Yutani cruiser Nemesis H/K Berserker team inbound, ETA blah blah blah...frequencies and code and stats, data entry at its most basic. She was suffused with a bizarre combination of emotional tension and phsyical lethargy; her shoulders ached. This wasn't what she had in mind throughout her long, often psychotically paced training-the joy of punching code and running communicationsfor a corporate lease ship. The cause was valid, sure, but lately she was hard-pressed to rationalize the methods. CCrew for example... "i'm late, I'm late, for a most important date," CCrew sang softly, his low voice broadcasting clearly through the small cockpit; speak of the devil! Wu smiled vaguely but could hear the strain in his voice, the carfully checked fear. Behind her, Diablo laughed. Wu glanced up at the one-way monitor and quickly looked back at her computer screen; CCrew and Dachande were tightening their armor already, but Bailey was still padding around his jock, simultaneously chewing on Mars bar and unself-consciously scrathcing one huge tightly muscled buttock. The Candyman was a testosterone-dork, almost a giant even without the obvious years of bodybuilding and steriods. Bigtime macho right down to the buzzed white mohawk and a tattoo of a snake on his arm. Not someone she particularly wanted to watch scratching his butt; let Diablo keep an eye on things for a while. "you wanna light a fire down there, Bailey?" Diablo had apparently been doing just that. Wu glanced over her shoulder; he was already focused back on the controls, piloting easily toward Traon. "Light this," said Bailey, and laughed loudly. Wu didn't bother to look up this time; she could guess what he was holding besides the candybar. A list of stats and a form letter acknowledgement scrolled up in front of her as Deepy 4 picked up its channel of choice; she punched in the return formalities and logged a few numbers, trying to tune out some of the tense laughter that pulsed over the intercom as the boys got themselves geared. This was her seventh run on the Nemesis with Diablo, their fith with this particular threesome- well except for CCrew's predecessor, Mannings; That weasely little creep had finally burned out four missions back. None of the volunteers were in for sex crimes, Company precations and morale and all that-but she suspected that Mannings had slipped through anyway.The way he'd watched her every time she moved-Wu shuddered slightly. Even now, she couldn't muster any pity for him, although he'd psyched out hard, maybe one mission away from full psychotic break... A solemn male voice interupted her thoughts "...this is Traon Weyland/Yutani Deep 4, hailing Nemesis, over..." Wu tapped her mike. "Traon, Deep 4, you got Hunter/Killer Nemesis on an inward bounder, requesting landing coordinates. We are at"-she glanced down at her monitor-"101-37, headed 100-26. Over." A string of numbers flitted across the screen, and when the communications tech spoke again, she could hear exhastion and relief in his voice. "Can't tell you how glad we are to see a Berserker team, Nemesis. Coordinates sent and LZ is clear. Supervisor Sturges will come across. Over." "Recieved, over and out." Wu punched a few more buttons and then stretched her arms back, duties performed for the moment. Dachande and Bailey were laughing over something, and she warily looked up at the locker vid; Bailey had pants on, at least. They were a pretty good group, all in all, a cut above what she'd come to expect. Dachande was straddling one end of the locker-room bench, grinning easily. Tall, brown-skinned with a winning laugh and some military experience, he was a solid ground leader-one of those calm-in-crisis types who excelled in keeping up team spirit. Although not particularly well educated, he was sharp and alert in his work, high intelligence marks from his parole distributor. Dach look up at the cam, still grinning. "Hey Diablo, you hear that? CCrew wants to know how come they can't train a dog to do his job-" CCrew smiled tightly, his thin pale face outlined by a dark scruff of beard. The cuff of his right ear was pierced with thick steel hoops, his spiky hair pushed back over shaved sides CCrew was the youngest member of the team. "Yeah, your a real funny guy, Dach. I'll lie awake at night and laugh about that one. My life has meaning now." Wu could tell he was sweating in spite of the cool temperature in the locker room. Bailey was finally struggling into his armor, the legend EAT ME scrawled across one massive shoulder guard. "Well, I ain't dumb, an' I volunteered." CCrew and Dach exchanged a smirking glance and CCrew sighed. "Borderline psychotics don't count, Candyman since their intelligence isn't called into play over decisions like H/K sign-up; it'd be reflexive." Dachande cracked up, CCrew played it straight, as usual. He was probably the wittiest of the three, which was good; Wu had theorized that the baiters with decent senses of humor did better than those without. Hell, look at Mannings; hysterics, shakes, the whole read of symptoms. CCrew held it together pretty well, all things considered. "I don't remember no metion of the word 'borderline'," Bailey said, then laughed bawdily. He picked up an M41 and pumped the action on the grenade launcher, the well-oiled metal snapping sharply. Diablo spoke up behind her, sounding amused. "That's what I like, a happy crew! I'm going to miss you little rays of sunshine when i'm gone." Diablo couldn't see her expression; Wu smiled slightly. She oculdn't speak for the team, but she didn't expect to miss Eric "Diablo" Izzard very much at all. In spite of whatever HE thought... "And speaking of, how's Max, Zorro?" Wu tuned back in. Max was fine or they'd have heard about it, but she wondered how their newest addition was holding up. Zorro seemed like a nice kid, shy, struggling with some career choices as her. They'd talked a few times over coffee about assignments and she'd filled him in on a few tidbits of H/K etiquette while they swapped info on Max; he was as interested in the SOP as she was the robotics. Zorro's soft, clear voice filled the cool room. "Still in deep sedation, sir. Respiratory and cardio rate even, no REMs-you want me to run a full systems check, Commander?" "That would be helpful, son. We may be needing him soon." He 'commed off sharply and scoffed. "Twenty-six missions and they saddle me with Zorro. What does the guy do all day?" Wu shrugged but didn't turn around. "He's green, but he's got the training. Give him a chance." Diablo laughed softly, and she could tell that he was shaking his head gently. As if to say "yeah whatever, Babe." He raised his voice suddenly, his standard go-get-'em tone at full volume as he addressed the team. "We're there in five! Belt up, boot up, and get ready to roll, people!!!" God, he was starting to annoy her. Sleeping with him had been a serious mistake.