You Must Abort!
"One of the tests of leadership is the ability to recognize a problem before it becomes an emergency."
- Arnold H. Glasow
Britain marched his recruits through the terminal into the Gateway's main launch bay. The cavernous bay was flanked by a large, raised control room which overlooked the primary and secondary ports. The secondary port was still very much under construction, crawling with arachnid engineering robotics and their human controllers. The large, egg-shaped delivery pod sat idle in its launch cradle.
"Everything is prepped for delivery." He said as he ushered them in.
"The pod contains fresh supplies for the dome as well as prefabbed structural elements and robotic support for the expansion work you will be doing."
He stopped on the main platform and turned to face them. They were clearly nervous. He took great pleasure in their discomfort and had no qualms about ratcheting up the tension.
"Guam, as squad leader, I need you to keep your team in line," he admonished.
"You will be on your own over there. It'll be nearly twenty-four hours before the delivery pod can be returned and the rest of your team can be shipped over. So, keep it in your pants, please. I want Chad working on his assignments, not polishing your pole." He said, smiling inwardly when he saw Chad's pained expression.
"You are primary admin," he said, poking Guam in the chest for emphasis, "Chad is your welder and Mali will handle the robotics. The prefabs and supplies mean we could only leave room for three passengers in the delivery pod on this trip. The rest of your squad will follow with three other squads on the next delivery run."
He paused to tick a task off the action to-do list on his clipboard. It chimed softly as it relayed the info back to the Overseer's operation center.
"Your visors have been updated with an itinerary and timelines for completion. Do not, fuck this up!"
He paused for effect before focusing his attention on Chad.
"If you two lovebirds can keep your hands off each other for longer than five minutes, I expect you to have rehearsed and memorized the steps to completion of your assigned jobs by the time you reach the dome."
Mali snickered at this. To Chad, it felt like she had stabbed him in the heart and he clenched his teeth in anguish.
Britain nodded briefly at Guam to confirm that the message had been received. With that, he spun on his heel and marched back out to the launch control room that overlooked the launch bay and took his seat in front of the operating panel.
"What better way to spend an afternoon than on a trip with my bottom bitch." Guam turned and smacked Chad on the rump. "All aboard, my darling. You too, Mali. Can't think why the boss saw fit to include you in my squad, but I'm sure I'll find some way to make use of you."
"Touch me again," Chad spat at him. "Touch me again and I swear I'll..."
Guam casually slapped him across the face with an open palm. It seemed such a slow and lazy swat that the force of the blow took Chad completely by surprise. Guam's palm caught Chad across the ear, compressing air into his eardrum with a loud pop that deafened him momentarily and sent a sharp spike of pain through his head. He collapsed to his knees in front of Guam, his hands held up to his wounded ear.
"...you'll what?" Guam replied with quiet menace. "You'd better get used to that position, bottom bitch. Now that I'm in charge you're going to be spending a lot of time down there."
Mali was about to interject when they were all interrupted by Britain's angry fat face appearing on their visor HUDs.
"The launch sequence will begin in one minute! Get in that pod now, you imbeciles!"
The tension evaporated and they all scrambled through the open pod door. There was very little room inside. The pod was configured for maximum shipping capacity, leaving the bare minimum of space for human passengers.
The pod door closed behind them and the pressurized seals hummed into life. The artificial temperature controls became active, detectable to them as a sudden tingling in the skin that gave way to the sensation of coolness in the air. There were three g-chairs, one for each of them. They quickly took their seats and strapped themselves in. The chairs were specially designed to help them endure the massive force that the pod's initial acceleration would subject them to.
Britain waited for them to get settled in. When satisfied he ticked off another task on his list, signed the executive order field, and tapped his stylus on the big red launch icon.
The live countdown began. Klaxons wailed around the Gateway facility as amber warning lights flashed. There was a palpable build-up of tension in the atmosphere as great swathes of energy were re-routed into the launch capacitors.
"Ten, nine..." A thin, nasal female voice intoned.
"Bon voyage," Britain said to the recruits as they braced themselves in their chairs.
"...eight, seven, six..." The voice continued the countdown.
Britain flipped a page on his clipboard and began to fill in a report.
"...five, four, three..."
He had just managed to fill in his identity code when the clipboard screen filled with the agitated face of the Overseer.
"Britain, we have a problem! The Survival dome has been compromised."
"...two, one..."
"Britain, abort the launch! You must abort!"
"Ignition."
There was a hollow thunk as the massive amounts of energy that had built up inside the pod launch stack were released, sending the pod zipping into the gateway at incredible speed.
Britain stared after it in horror, overcome with the sense that his promotion prospects were zipping away with it. He looked back down at his clipboard.
"I'm... I'm sorry, Barbuda," he stammered.
"She just launched."
The Overseer unloaded an expletive-laden tirade on Britain that left the poor foreman short of breath.
"What happened, sir?" he whimpered when he could get a word in edgewise.
"Never mind that!" Barbuda snapped back. "Alert your crew that they can expect a hostile welcoming party. A Southlander, possibly related to the individual we received earlier has gained access. I trust you selected a crew with some experience?"
Britain nodded furiously.
"Of course," he lied, "Only the best."
"Good," Barbuda replied. "The Southlander has overpowered a ranger and the dome appears to be bleeding air pressure. See to it that they understand that repairing the dome's atmospheric integrity is their priority."
Art by Daniel Sheldon https://www.facebook.com/speednperspective
