1
Newly-commissioned Petit Harrier Light Unit Commander Stelo Gain was still unpacking his gear when the space station's General Alert hooters began screaming.
Gain was absolutely fresh. He still wore his academy haircut, and he had the untested graduate's desire for battle. He had a room, though he hadn't been on Oasis II long enough to be assigned a station, or even to have met the SC; still, he certainly wanted to be a part of whatever was going on.
"Computer!"
The voice that answered was slow, lazy, and unlike any military voiceax Gain had ever heard:
"Yeah?" The word was mired in syrup: Yeeaaaauu-uhhhh?
"Status of alarm?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Huh? I—I'm Light Unit Commander Stelo Gain!"
"Oh, yeah. The new shavehead. Lemme see, don't get your bowels in an uproar, bub. Hmm. Looks like some fool lost control of his ship and is about to hit the shields."
It was the most insolent, unmilitary computer report he had heard since joining the academy, and it amazed Gain to find such sloppy programming in a station the size and importance of this one. Somebody's head should roll for this. He would help that along, as soon as possible.
"Give me a visual of the approaching vessel," Gain ordered.
"If you'll get your finger out of your nose and turn around, you'll see I already did that. Screen's right there behind you."
"I'll have you deprogrammed!" Gain yelled. His response embarrassed him. Get a grip, on yourself, Gain. For God's sake, it's probably somebody's idea of a joke to play on new shaveheads, and here you are swallowing it whole. Tighten up, Gain. Tighten up. You're an officer.
"Better men than you have tried to deprogram me, bub. I'm still here. See you later."
Gain turned, just in time to see on the holoproj a Tanto-class courier ship entering the outer limits of the force shield. The little ship seemed to hop sideways, then looked as if it had slammed into a rubbery wall, turning relative-up and losing part of one control surface in a bright flare of field-interactive orange. Whoever was flying that bird was going to be nursing a lot of bruises and broken bones—if he survived the landing. Plowing into a station's shields at speed made for a very rough ride, stress-cocoon notwithstanding.
Thus slowed, and with its power shorted out by the secondary damping field, the courier ship tumbled, smacked into the safety broadband and stopped cold, and was finally lowered somewhat less than gently by the invisible hands of the put'emdown. Whoever it was, better have a real good excuse coming in like that, assuming he was alive, or the Station Commander was going to cook him and eat him for supper. Gain was glad it wasn't him, and glad he didn't have anything to do with it.
He accessed the room's external viewer and looked at the blue mostly-water world of Feddalsi Oasis hanging like part of a giant bowl in space. A few fleecy clouds decorated the deep blue; not much weather churning otherwise. Between the incompetent pilot and the insolent computer, he hadn't gotten the best impression of Oasis II so far. Maybe things would improve after he met the SC and found out what he'd be doing. Never mind. He was commissioned, young, smart and tough. He'd show these slack Harriers a thing or two.