War Fleet: Resistance, стр. 38
“To get that FTL-warp module under our control. Our lives are secondary. Stopping that supernova is primary.”
Olsen took a deep breath and returned his attention to the viewscreen. The tension of the inactive crew cut through the room, and he very much doubted Chang and Rob alone could turn things around.
“Sir, if I may,” Chang said. He’d turned his seat so he could address Olsen. His cheeks were ruddy, and he looked delighted about something.
“What is it, Chang?”
“We’ve found a way to control the warp module. There’s a failsafe mechanism that I’ve managed to hack that allows us to take control of any modules from any of the consoles here.”
“What’s the catch?”
“It will only work on modules not currently under control, so those weapons modules already surrounding us can’t be overridden. And it can only be done by one operator at one station.”
“So we take control of that FTL-warp as soon as possible and transfer it to one of the consoles here,” Olsen replied. “Rob, while Chang does that, get us as many shield modules and the most badass weapons modules you can acquire.” He looked around the room. “Enough for everyone here to man a station. We’re going to have to hold out long enough to get to that warhead.”
What was left unspoken was what would happen after that, but that didn’t need to be spelled out. As he spoke, Olsen could hear the faint groans of the surrounding crew. Only Redrock and Cadinouche were pilots. The rest wouldn’t be able to turn a ship without a little experimentation. Hell, Olsen wouldn’t know either, if put on the spot.
But that wasn’t important now. Taking action was what mattered. Novak was right. As long as they were alive, they had a chance.
He lifted himself up from his seat and coughed loudly, to draw everyone’s attention away from the screen.
“Chang, Rob,” he said, “keep your attention on your task, but lend an ear if you like. For everyone else, I want you to listen to what I have to say. I know that times seem dark and the battle seems lost, but while our limbs still work and our brains still work, we have a fighting chance.
“Some of you have families back home. Some of you”— Olsen glanced at Novak — “came here alone. But, we all have one thing in common in the fact that we’re human. We’ve come this far because we’re fighters, and as long as there’s a chance, we keep fighting. If we don’t stop this warhead, there won’t just be billions lost here. It will be a crippling blow to everything we love—to our entire race. Take a workstation, push the Arstans out of the way if you have to, and claim it as your own. This is one complete puzzle we can solve together, and we’ll try our hardest to get through until the very last breath. Because it might not be our last, and that’s worth fighting for. Is that understood?”
He paused a moment, and let the crew reply with a loud, “yes sir.”
“Are you going to fight?”
“Yes, sir!” The room reverberated with the sound.
“Then man your stations and get to work.”
43
Redrock had piloted some of the most advanced fighters known to man. But he’d admittedly never found himself at the controls of an Arstan vessel, and in particular an Arstan module. He’d always considered them as clunky, ugly, and probably unpleasant to fly, as if they were buildings in space. In fact, he’d go as far to say that flying one would be his personal vision of hell.
Still, they were all in this together. He sat down first in the high-backed leather seat in front of the computer desk that spanned a semi-circle around him. He looked at the screen, which was blank, a moment, and then he cast his eye over the foreign symbols on the keyboard and wondered how the hell he would pilot this thing.
“You got this,” Olsen said confidently. He stood over Redrock as he surveyed the console.
Redrock would pilot the FTL-warp module. He’d expected it, and hadn’t had to even lobby for it. The captain had simply made it so. “Flying an alien module into a moving warhead at high-speed with perfect precision? Sure, no problem.”
Olsen merely patted his shoulder and stepped away. He’d be manning another console. They all would be. They’d divvied up controls among the shield modules and the couple weapons modules that Rob had found.
Shortly after, his screen turned on, and a message popped up on it. “Redrock, the FTL-warp module is under your control. Chang,” it said, and his screen flicked on. A panel on the desk in front of his chair opened and something sprang out of it, letting out a loud twang: A yoke, as large as you’d see in the cockpits of Earth airplanes hundreds of years ago, before they’d invented auto-piloted intercontinental hoverbuses.
All the other crew had similar yokes, including Kota. She was sitting in front of Redrock and slightly to the right. Unsurprisingly, she was piloting one of the weapons modules, even though she had no experience with it. Olsen had made that call, too, and he was right to do it. She’d have killed him if he hadn’t.
Redrock chuckled to himself and then took hold of the two metal handholds at the sides of the yoke. Just to get a feel for the controls, he shifted the warp module until it was facing directly at the star, and began to warm the engines for a short burst of FTL power that would send it ramming into the warhead before careening off into the heart of the sun.
He’d made almost no fine adjustments when he suddenly felt an intense numbing sensation rush up his arms. His eyes went wide, as if they wanted to pop out of their sockets, and he started shaking, as if high on ten energy drinks.
“What the hell is happening, Chang?” he heard Olsen say from behind him. The