The Armstrong Incident

The Armstrong Incident

Many thanks to those who offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories. For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper...

Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...

...

Thursday, 17 April 2098 16:35 hours, USSC Judge Advocate General's Building, Joint Base Grissom

I just finished my coffee and looked at my watch. It had been a very long day and I was anxious for it to be over. I had spent three hours giving testimony and answering questions before being deposited in this tiny room with nothing but a television monitor and my own thoughts to keep me company.

I had been told to wait here until further notice, but that was over two hours ago. Surely, I thought, the board would have come to a conclusion by now. Suddenly, the door opened, and my legal representative, Commander Tom Baker, stepped into the room.

"The board has just adjourned for the day, Lt. Jones," he said. That's me, by the way. William Jones, Bill to my friends and family. I'm a Senior Flight Lieutenant in the United States Space Corps, what used to be called the Space Force, formed nearly 80 years ago.

"They want you back at 0800 hours tomorrow, so you might as well go back to your quarters," Cmdr. Baker said. "And remember, don't interact with any of the other witnesses in the case. Especially your wife."

"You mean, the cheating slut known as my soon-to-be ex-wife, don't you, sir?" I asked. He nodded his head.

"Yeah. Her," he said. "Go on, Lieutenant, get outta here. And stay out of trouble."

"Aye aye, sir," I said as I stood up. I stretched my legs, grabbed my cover and headed out the door. I got into my tiny electric car, then headed back to the BOQ -- that's "Bachelor Officer's Quarters" for those not familiar with the term.

When I got to my suite, I took my uniform off, grabbed a frozen fake meat hamburger and tossed it in the microwave. As it cooked, I took a beer out of the fridge and popped the top off. When my "burger" was finished, I pulled it out and finished it in three large bites, trying not to notice the flavor. They were okay for camping or a quick snack, but were a poor substitute for the real thing, which was getting harder and harder to come by.

I sat in the recliner and turned on the television monitor to catch the latest news. There really wasn't anything that grabbed my attention, so I sat back and recalled the events of the last few weeks.

Until just recently, I was the Weapons Officer for the USS Armstrong, the Corps' newest, largest, fastest and most modern spacecraft. Named after the astronaut who first walked on the moon back in 1969, the Armstrong was said to be the most advanced machine crafted by human hands. It held a complement of 110 officers and crew members, and was propelled by two plasma ion-fusion power plants. It was said the Armstrong could reach Jupiter in just under 50 days.

On top of that, the Armstrong carried enough firepower to decimate anything that threatened it. In addition to a complement of nuclear-tipped cruise missiles, it carried three pulse-energy weapons, a rail gun, and several short-range mini-lasers that worked very much like the old mini-guns of the early 21st century. In short, it was one bad-ass ship. And mine was the hand that controlled all that firepower.

Why have all that firepower, you might ask. About 45 years ago, one of our shuttles was attacked by an Iranian spacecraft. Unfortunately, the shuttle was unarmed and had no defenses whatsoever. A missile fired by the Iranians struck the shuttle from underneath, destroying it. Outer space being the most inhospitable environment known to man, everyone died instantly.

We almost went to war over that incident, but the diplomats somehow managed to avoid it. The Space Corps, however, decided from that moment on, that every manned space vehicle in its fleet would be armored and equipped for combat.

Getting orders to serve on the Armstrong's maiden voyage to Jupiter was only made sweeter by the fact that my wife of five years, Tabitha, or Tabby, as she liked to be called, also got a set of orders to the same vessel. Unlike me, however, she would serve as the ship's senior pilot. At first I was overjoyed by the fact that we would get to serve together on the newest ship in the fleet.

This would be the first time the two of us had ever been assigned to the same ship at the same time. We were high school sweethearts who pledged to be exclusive to each other shortly after we turned 18. We both wanted to fly in space and applied for the Academy in our senior year of high school.

Both of us were accepted and got engaged right after graduating from high school, with plans to marry after graduating from the Academy. She got her wish and became a pilot. I didn't get to become a pilot and got assigned to Operations and Weapons. At first I was bummed out about it, but the more I got to shoot things and blow things up, the more I liked it.

After graduating from the Academy, we got married, each of us in our dress uniforms. We were assigned to the same base, but unfortunately, our missions often kept us apart. It's hard enough when one spouse is constantly traipsing off into space for two months or so at a time, but it's even worse when both are doing the same thing.

Sometimes, she would be on a mission for two months, leaving me to wait at home. Other times, I would be the one on a mission. There were times when both of us would be gone at the same time, but on different missions. Needless to say, we didn't get to spend a lot of time together, so we made the most of what time we did have.

Don't get me wrong -- I didn't just sit at home twiddling my thumbs while she was gone. I took an interest in a fairly new form of martial arts called Grav Tac that was designed specifically for use in low -- to mid-G environments. I took martial arts training in high school, and was instantly drawn to this. It required strength, tactical thinking and a strong knowledge of how things react in low gravity.

During this time, I never even considered the possibility that Tabby would cheat on me. I always trusted her to do the right thing so I never worried about it. Even though there were times I was tempted, I decided there was no way I would cheat on the woman I loved. So the idea that she might be seeing someone behind my back never even occurred to me.

I remembered the times we would fantasize about making love in zero-G, or on the moon or Mars. We always said if the chance ever came, we would try it, just once. So naturally, when we both got orders to serve on the Armstrong, it was like a dream come true for both of us. Unfortunately, that dream turned into a nightmare -- with no escape.

My mind drifted back to the day I left...

...

Friday, 3 January 2098 Canaveral Launch Facility, Florida

Dressed out in my full spaceflight suit and launch pack, I said nothing as the technicians strapped me in the seat of the passenger shuttle that would take me and 20 others to the orbital dock facility where the Armstrong was located. Being the senior pilot, Tabby had gone up in the first shuttle that launched just over three hours earlier. I was in the third shuttle to go up that day. Three more would follow.

Next to me was the Armstrong's First Officer, Commander Jason Travers, or "Bull," as he was known due to his size and general demeanor. I knew Bull from the Academy. He was an instructor there when Tabby and I attended, and he was a hard-ass back then, taking no crap off of anyone. He expected the students to put out 110 percent, and he wouldn't settle for anything less.

He was also Tabby's counselor at the time. I sat in a few of his classes, but other than that, had very little contact with him.

"So, Jones, you looking forward to finally getting to serve with your wife?" Bull asked.

"Yes sir, I am," I said.

"Well, this is gonna be one for the history books," he said.

"I hear we're going farther than anyone has ever gone before," I told him.

"Jupiter and back in less than 100 days," he said. "Gonna be a very interesting mission." I felt and heard the pumps in the rocket underneath us that would eventually lift us into the sky and knew we'd be leaving Earth very soon. Bull knew it as well, as did everyone else in the shuttle. All of us were space veterans, so this was nothing new to us. Bull looked around to make sure everyone was ready to go.

"Alright, everyone, say goodbye to Earth. This is it, so SUCK IT UP," he bellowed before putting his head back on the seat cushion. We closed our visors and prepared for the launch. We felt the vehicle shake as the engines fired up and then felt the massive g-forces as the rocket began to lift. Looking out the window, I could see the clouds zipping by as we rose into the sky.

Soon, the blue sky turned black and I could see the curvature of the planet below. I never got tired of seeing that. The shuttle shook as the boosters disconnected. I knew they would fall back to Earth and land not far from where we had taken off so they could be used again. About an hour later, I could see a structure off in the distance.

"There she is," Bull said after opening his visor. "We'll be docking soon." A half hour later, the shuttle came alongside the large open dock and matched its speed to the dock's. Two large tubular structures came out and made contact with the shuttle. I could hear the hiss of air as the pressure stabilized in the dock.

"This is it," Bull said. "Get ready to experience a bit of gravity. Right now, the ship should be at .8 G's." I knew from my orientation documents the Armstrong was equipped with a gravitational system that could be adjusted as necessary. That would help alleviate the effects of long-term exposure to zero gravity, which included fluid shifts, muscular atrophy and loss of bone.

We waited for the crew to give the signal, and soon, a green light flashed above the hatchways. Bull unsnapped his harness and stood up, motioning for the others to follow suit. After he stepped into the aisle, I unsnapped my harness and stood, grabbing my bag.

It felt strange moving from the near-zero gravity of the shuttle to the somewhat-reduced, but present, gravity of the ship. In the space of a few steps I could feel the weight of my pack and my bag.

"Launch stations in four hours, people," Bull shouted as we entered the vessel. "Let's go. There's three more shuttles right behind us."

I already knew from the orientation material where our cabin was located, so I made my way there first, hoping to see Tabby. Unfortunately, she wasn't there, but I could tell she had already been in the cabin as her stuff took up half the space in our tiny "closet."

I put my gear away, stripped out of the heavy space suit and donned my regular flight suit. Grabbing my black uniform cap, I headed off to the bridge to take my station at the weapons console. I had a lot of work to do before we could launch. When I got there, the bridge was buzzing with activity. Tabby was working her way through the pre-flight checklist, so I left her alone.

I fired up the console and started the calibration routines, then grabbed a printout of the weapons inventory. From there, I went to the two cruise missile platforms and physically verified the serial numbers on the list and checked to make sure the locks were in place. From there, I went to each of the weapons stations and verified those were locked and ready to be put into immediate use.

Then I went back to the bridge to report my inventory to the captain. I had to wait for the medical officer to finish his report before presenting my inventory, but I was okay with that. When the doc left, the captain looked at me. I recognized him right off -- Capt. Alan Simmons.

"Lt. Jones," he said as he took my inventory sheet. "We served on the Shepard as I recall."

"Yes, sir, we did," I said. He signed the inventory and we verified our key numbers. Only three people had keys to the cruise missiles -- myself, the captain and the first officer. Two of those three keys were required to launch the missiles.

"Good to have you with us, Jones," he said. "I understand you and our senior pilot are married." Tabby turned and smiled as she heard that.

"Yes sir, we are," I told him.

"Good," Alan said. "That should help make the trip more exciting for you."

"Yes sir, I hope so," I said, looking at Tabby. She gave me a mischievous smile then returned to her business. By then, Bull had made it to the bridge and was walking around making sure everyone was on task. Bull gave me a look that could freeze a solar flare and I took that as a hint to get back to my station. "I'd better get back to my station, sir." Alan nodded his head and turned to the next person requiring his attention.

I got back to my station and verified that all of the calibration tasks had completed. From my perspective, everything was locked down and in good order. I knew from my time on the Shepard that Capt. Simmons liked to hold impromptu weapons drills and target practice from time to time, so it was important that I was ready to lock and load on a moment's notice.

It was also imperative the targeting system remained calibrated at all times. Generally speaking, once the system was calibrated it remained that way, unless there was a major malfunction or someone messed with it. Nevertheless, every shift began with a calibration check. Finally, Alan began his pre-launch check-in with each station as we all belted ourselves in our seats.

"Ops," he called.

"All systems go for launch," responded Lt. Commander Alice Brewster, the operations officer and my immediate superior.

"Engineering," Alan called.

"All systems nominal and within normal parameters. Go for launch, sir," said Lt. Commander Brian Falkner, the senior engineer.

"Weapons!"

"All systems calibrated and locked, sir. All weapons accounted for," I said.

"Comm!"

"Communications five by five, sir," said Lt. Commander Denise Simpson, the senior communications officer.

"Navigation!"

"Course laid in and locked, sir. ETA to Mars Station 440 hours," said Lt. Ryan Halcomb, the senior navigation officer, whose console was located next to Tabby's in the front center of the bridge.

"Number One!"

"All personnel present and accounted for, sir. All stations report go for launch," Bull said from his station, located just behind and to the left of Alan. Alan nodded his head and punched a button on the console in front of him.

"Houston, this is Armstrong. Request clearance for launch."

"Clearance for launch approved, Armstrong. Godspeed," said a voice from the communications speaker overhead. Alan nodded his head and punched the console again.

"Roger that, Houston," he said. He punched another button and spoke again. "Spacedock, this is Armstrong. Clearance for launch granted. Disconnect and retract all lines."

"Copy that, Armstrong. Lines retracting." We heard several sharp noises and knew those were the lines being retracted. From this point on, we were on our own power. A few moments later, we heard the acknowledgment that all lines had been fully retracted, leaving the ship free to move forward.

"Start the engines," Alan ordered.

"Engines started," Brian said.

"Take us out, helm. Nice and easy. Don't scratch the paint," Alan said with a smile.

"Aye aye, sir," Tabby said, pushing two levers forward while holding the control column. The ship slowly began to move forward and I could see the exit of the spacedock get closer. I knew that at this point, we were operating on maneuvering thrusters only. Firing up the plasma ion-fusion engines inside the spacedock would cause serious damage to both the dock and the Armstrong. Soon, we were clear of the large structure.

"Spacedock cleared," Tabby said. From here, we would spiral out of Earth orbit to a point somewhere between the Earth and the moon, where we would fire up the two large engines. "Q-Point," it was called, and I could see the tracking on the navigator's console from where I sat. An hour later, the navigator spoke up.

"ETA to Q-Point two mikes, sir," Ryan said. "The road is clear." That meant the forward sensors detected no debris or organic material -- like a rock -- in our path that would damage the ship.

"Copy that," Alan said. "Engineering!"

"Engines warmed up and ready, sir," Brian said. Alan punched his console.

"Houston, Armstrong. Approaching Q-Point."

"Approaching Q-Point, copy that, Armstrong." We all watched the countdown timers on our console and prepared ourselves. When the timer reached 0:00, Alan spoke again.

"Kick the tires and light the fires, helm. Let's see what this girl can do." Tabby's hands flew over her console as she responded.

"Kicking tires, lighting fires. Aye aye, sir," she said. She pushed the control levers all the way forward and we all felt the initial force as the plasma ion-fusion engines opened up. We heard a faint hum as the engines ramped up and could feel the increase in g-forces. I knew that at this point, we were traveling faster through space than any human being had ever traveled before.

I looked at Tabby, feeling a great sense of pride in the way she handled herself -- and this humongous vessel. She glanced back at me, so I smiled, winked and gave her a thumbs-up. She smiled in return. Glancing at Bull, I thought he was about to explode, so I turned back to my console.

About an hour later, I got the first clue that things were not going to go well on this voyage when Bull posted the bridge officers' schedule. I wasn't surprised to see him post the schedule -- that was normally the First Officer's job. But I was surprised to see that I had been placed on the second shift.

You have to understand that in space, there is no such thing as "night" or "day." Our chronometers -- like every other ship in the Corps -- are synchronized with those in Houston. When it's nighttime in Houston, the ship's lighting is dimmed significantly to give the crew a sense that it's "night." That typically happens during the second shift.

Bridge officers in the Corps typically work a twelve-hour shift. As a result, there are two shifts, first and second. The Corps has a long-time tradition of placing senior bridge officers on the first shift, while placing lesser-experienced and lower-ranking officers on the second. There's nothing in writing that spells this out, and the First Officer has quite a bit of leeway in this regard.

But it still hurt to see that Bull had placed me on the second shift. It was almost like getting a demotion. Worse yet, it meant that Tabby and I would not be able to spend hardly any time together, since she was on the first shift. If I was lucky, we'd get to see each other for a few minutes during the shift changes. To say I was pissed would be an understatement. And Bull knew it.

"Is there a problem with the schedule, Lieutenant?" I heard Bull ask. I looked up to see him in front of my console. By now, Alice had stepped to my side. Apparently, she had seen the schedule as well and was just as curious as I was to hear his explanation.

"Am I still the senior weapons officer, sir?" I asked.

"Of course you are," Bull said.

"Then why am I on second shift?"

"Because in my judgment, that's the best place for you," he said, his voice starting to get attention. "Look, Lieutenant, if you have a problem with the schedule, take it up with the captain. Through me!" By now, Alan had stepped to my console.

"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" he asked.