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Farmer Joe's Fish and the Fall of Malta
Posted By: NoLunchMafia<eisaac@gmail.com>
Date: 7 September 2007, 11:06 pm
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"Have you read the briefings on the Covvy's? I've been telling you, Harris. If you put in leave planetside, you likely won't get your post back when you return. There's too many men tasting blood for your spot, kapiche?"
Commander Joseph Nismuth stood leaning at the fishtank, dropping food inside. Captain Quinn S. Harris stood at attention, but stole a chance to frown and raise an eyebrow. It seemed, in the UNSC's desperation to replenish lost command-level officers after Reach, they were tossing unaccustomed deskpushers into field posts. The Malta's MAC gun hadn't fired anything unscheduled since she was built. Thus, UNSC Command sent restless groundside weenies out here to stay out of the way while they grew some spacelegs. Cairo, next door, was the cushy post, complete with Admiralty and ONI branch offices. Nobody without the prescribed years in the field could take a post there without getting personal recommendation from either.
"Thank you, sir. Permission to be dismissed, sir!" Quinn saluted. Nismuth waved his hand idly as he turned back to his computer.
"Oh, one more thing, Captain."
"Sir?"
"I don't need to remind you that the next monthly inspection is in 2 days? Will the crew be ready?"
"Sir yes sir!"
"Thank you."
The commander was a politician-turned-military. He put on airs of authority, but he disliked one on one confrontations where he couldn't march around. Thus he found as many opportunities as possible for 'inspections' and formation drills where he could make speeches and impress the cameras. One of his favorite speech musings was the effort and "the sweat off our backs." The enlisted and most officers called him "Farmer Joe."
Quinn marched out of the office and through the HQ bloc. He was sick of this place. The neutral gray colored walls, the grated flooring. It was just on the cold side of comfortable all the time. Not that MAC station architects knew anything about comfort. The Malta packed a punch, but it was built without the intention of housing any important brass, so the operative philosophy became, "liveable."
"This place is about as liveable as Farmer Joe's outhouse." Lieutenant Junior Grade Max Grady grimaced at Harris from the Hot Seat. Grady was entertaining himself by running targeting simulations on Tahiti. Quinn looked over his shoulder.
"My wife is there with Monsieur Lutz," Grady spat. "One more upgrade to the targeting software, and I can almost focus on his–"
"Cut that out, Grady. Out of my chair." Quinn flipped his thumb over his shoulder.
"Sir, yes sir! I should find the new systems operation engineer and tell him to check the AI's hardware." Grady said flippantly, and hopped down.
"Good idea."
Grady clomped away muttering, "cheating bitch."
Quinn shook his head and climbed into the Hot Seat. "Hi Lily," He said.
"Hello Captain Harris. How are you today?" Spoke an electronic female voice from the console.
"I'm feeling about the same. Did you get that problem fixed yet?"
"Hello Captain Harris. How are you today?"
"Lily!"
"Hello Captai–I've been trying to isolate the anomaly. Did you ask the commander about getting me a holo-repeater like Cortana has?"
"Just log me in, Lily. Why don't you ask him?"
"He's cut me out of everything but the emergency channel."
"Well, he does hate AI's."
"Everyone hates me."
"Don't say that, Lily. I don't hate you. Why can't you just be happy with what you have?"
"I have a voice emitter and a monochrome screen, Captain Harris."
"Good God. A vain AI. I've seen everything."
"Hello Captain Harris. How are you–"
He pulled off his earpiece. He couldn't deal with her at the moment. Quinn touched the keyboard and punched in for FLEETCOM. He glanced to the screen on his left and immediately saw a luminescent green figure, flanked by a white dress uniform. He had heard things about the SPARTAN program. He smirked, ONI never made it out to Malta to give seminars, and he felt out of the loop on much more public things than this. So this is Spartan 117. The figure was flanked by a scarred and decorated Sergeant who smiled with the charm of a hand-grenade. Finally, something slightly interesting to watch. He forgot about the muted Lily and leaned back into his chair.
"HELLO CAPTAIN HARRIS. HOW – CAPTAIN HARRIS, MULTIPLE OBJECTS DETECTED..."
Quinn flinched and grabbed the earphone.
"…on outer sensors."
"Is it really necessary to broadcast that on station emergency channels?!" Quinn exploded. He quickly scanned the report. "Fix that goddam'd glitch!" There were a number of quickly moving figures on the outer rim. It didn't appear that their trajectories were directed at Earth. "Notify Command anyway, Lily."
"Yes Captain Harris."
"Captain Harris, report!" barked Commander Nismuth over the com.
"Lily's still got that glitch. It looks like a cargo fleet. My fault for disabling her vocals for a moment."
"That's court martial material, soldier. Do I need to remind you of defense coordinator duties?"
"No sir! Sorry, sir!"
"Now, if that glitch happens again, both of you are going to be transferred. We can't afford these kind of screw ups."
"Yes sir!"
Quinn leaned back into his chair. He rubbed his forehead and shook his head.
"Sorry Captain Harris."
"How long have you been here, Lily?"
"Approximately four hundred, thirty five earth days."
He remembered the day they installed Lily in place of Kilroy, the old AI. She came in from a science recon vessel. Quinn remembered the ship, a worn clunker that had lost its paint job on more than a few atmospheric entries. The moment it docked at Malta, ONI spooks appeared and sealed off the bay. The station had been screaming for a new AI, and Lily was brought on board to replace Kilroy.
"What do you think of your new responsibilities so far? Different from the science projects?"
"The analysis is all the same, Captain Harris. I look for anomalies in space and in lab samples with the same scrutiny."
"But this isn't science, this is military."
"Hello Captain Harris. How are you today?"
"Nevermind."
Quinn turned his eyes back to the monitor. He shook his head again. Cairo Station got all the glory. He looked up at his port window, and stared across at the pulsating lights of Cairo. The stars behind twinkled with the slow weariness of space.
"Wha…?"
He glanced at his console. There were several blips appearing on screen. Nine, ten… Fifteen! Big, too. They were holding position just beyond MAC range.
"Lily!"
"They appear to be alien in design."
"Shit!"
He reached up and hit the klaxon.
BOOM. *reeeeee*
No sooner had his hand left the alarm, when new blips appeared on his screen. Shit.
Another Boom.
The station rocked. He hit the com switch. "All hands, Battle Stations! We have boarding parties inbound! This is not a drill. I repeat. Battle Stations!"
"Harris!" Farmer Joe was barking over the com.
"Sir!"
"Harris! What the blue balled hell is this?"
"Covenant Sir! A fleet just jumped into sector 085!"
No answer. Quinn frowned and jumped back to the console. Let him cower in his quarters. It was probably better that way.
Within two minutes, lights were blinking all over the board.
"Proximity alert. Ships approaching Cargo Bay C, D, and G on levels 20 through 31," Lily reported.
Well. This is it. I hope all those emergency drills pay off. Quinn continued to input commands and coordinate a defense perimeter around critical areas. There was no way they would be able to battle through the inner bulkhead. Those MAC gun architects… maybe they aren't so bad after all. If anything, Malta was built like a 5 mile high, 2 mile wide tank.
"Incoming transmission from Cairo, Captain Harris, How are you today?" Lily announced.
"Patch 'em through!"
A gruff voice barked through the com, "How's it going Malta?"
"Stand by," Quinn checked the perimeter monitors. The alien vessels were already attached and releasing strike forces. "They're latched! Check your targets, watch the crossfire. They're in standard formation, little bastards up front, big ones in back. Good luck, Cairo."
Quinn took his hand off his earpiece. He glanced out his station porthole across to Cairo Station, and marveled sickeningly at the number of glittering purple shapes there were everywhere. The big cruisers were still out of range, but maybe they could get a shot through a cluster of small ones…
"Lily, how's our firing solution?"
"Operational, however we don't have a clear target," Lily reported.
Minutes were ticking by. Every once in a while he would hear the echoes of plasma bursts answered with ballistics fire. Checking the console, he was impressed. It seemed his boys were keeping the enemy isolated in the core cargo bays, very promising. Now… if they could just get some of those capitol ships to move a little closer.
"Lily, can we transmit a fake victory signal or something to the Covenant? Perhaps on an enemy channel? Get them in closer?" He mused.
"Unknown. How are you this morning?" Lily was not helping. Quinn began to wonder if she had more problems than just repeating herself.
Another explosion. This time, the Deck Sergeant could be heard over the radio, "We just broke through their line! They are retreating back to regroup! Keep up the pressure!"
Quinn allowed himself some hope. Maybe the Covvy's weren't as tough as they thought! They underestimated the resistance of the oldest MAC in the fleet. He continued to shout commands and intelligence to the soldiers.
"Another incoming transmission from Cortana, Captain."
"Patch 'em in!" Quinn clapped his hands as he watched the Covenant running frantically back through the airlocks.
Cortana's alto voice was much more pleasant than Lily's shrill soprano. She came in stern, however, "Malta, what is your status?"
Quinn glanced at his screens one more time, "I don't believe it! They're retreating! We won!"
He squinted at the screen. As the covenant ships were pulling away, the marines in Cargo Deck C were all patting each other on the back as they slowly approached a strange, spiked probe lying among the debris. He frowned as he sent medical and repair teams to the section.
For some reason, he thought of Farmer Joe's fish.
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