Task Force Mars - Kevin Dockery [7]
Frustrated by the mystery, the officers nevertheless prepared to take up positions for the fast journey to Mars. From the wardroom, it was a short jaunt to pull themselves through the hatch to the next deck forward. They were wearing flight uniforms, not the bulky pressurized suits necessary for external work, and Jackson couldn’t help feeling a certain Peter Pan elation at the flying sensation as he easily and weightlessly followed the captain into the con.
A Deck was the smallest deck on the ship (except for the comparable L Deck), completely domed over by a thick Plexiglas hemisphere that allowed viewing everywhere except directly astern. Carstairs strapped himself into the pilot’s chair while Jackson took a second seat. Sanders headed for the seat for the fire control officer; the helmsman’s seat remained vacant. All the chairs reclined fully so that when the G-force was applied, the officers could lie back and look “up” in the direction of the ship’s course.
“We only need visual controls for the helm when we’re docking,” the captain explained. “And my fire control officer is the exec; he’s going to sweat this out in the CIC.”
The CIC—combat information center—was the fighting “brain” of the ship, and it occupied all of C Deck. It contained the communications links, radar, and other electronic detection systems, as well as fire control systems for the ship’s two batteries and a considerable array of rockets and missiles. Damage control ops also were run from the CIC, which was the most heavily armored part of the vessel. As in a submarine, all the compartments of Pegasus could be sealed off to prevent a breach from dooming the entire ship, but the CIC, in its titanium-shielded tub, was so solid that it might survive intact even if the rest of the frigate was destroyed around it.
“So let me make sure I understand, sir,” Sanders said, only half joking as he belted himself into the sturdy yet cushioned and adjustable seat. “We’re going to accelerate at about 20 Gs but the inertial dampening system keeps us alive?”
“Yep,” Carstairs replied with a grin. “Once we’re moving, we’ll be feeling about 1 G, pretty much the same gravitational pull that you feel on Earth. But we’ll be accelerating halfway to Mars, then turn around and point our tail toward our destination and decelerate for the second half of the voyage. It’ll take us about twelve hours to get there once we leave orbit.”
Sanders whistled and shook his head.
“I know what you mean,” the captain continued. “Without inertial dampening, we’d all be squashed like bugs by the G-force. The IDS the Shamani sold us makes this kind of travel possible; otherwise, it would take us weeks to get there. Of course, they haven’t worked out real artificial gravity, just a way to reduce already existing gravitational forces. Are you strapped in?”
“All set, sir,” Sanders replied.
“Roger that,” Jackson added.
“Con to bridge. Take us out when you’re ready, Pat.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” came the electrified voice of Lieutenant Commander Seghers, the ship’s executive officer.
Seconds later the booming of an alarm whistle, accompanied by a regular pulsing of the ship’s lights, flashed through the ship. The warning signals continued for twenty seconds, and Sanders knew this gave the crew on every deck time to report their readiness for acceleration. One didn’t want to go from weightlessness