The Rain

(This is a work in progress.  I'm just posting this now because it's been so long since I sat down and really wrote, and I'd like to garner a few opinions.)

(EDIT 2: Updated with more story.)



There is something ethereal about the rain when you're alone.

The steady staccato tattoo of the droplets, hurling themselves on the windshield, across the metal skin overhead created a barrier between me and the outside world; a barrier which I embraced with all my being.  It was moments like this where I could turn my thoughts inward, take comfort in the glorious not-silence and be alone with myself, allowing the cares of the world to slough away. 

In some cultures, the rain was considered to be renewal in action, a time of spiritual cleansing as well as physical.  In others, it was a dark omen and a warning.  I always preferred the former--the later always seemed too stodgy and pessimistic and I embraced the aspect of renewal, no matter where the rain found me.  In it I found peace, solace and delightful isolation. 

In the rain, I was free.

I leaned back, closed my eyes and quietly let myself drift in its steady embrace.

****

“Commander on deck!”

From her vantage point half inside the drive assembly bay of one of the squadron’s two rescue shuttles, Samantha Cunningham heard rather than saw the various knots of technicians throughout the recovery deck of the Cuttlefish settle down, those not actively working taking up a position of Attention.  Silence punctuated by the clatter of tools reigned for several long moments, until Lieutenant Commander Bergin finally said “Carry on.”  A light but diminishing murmur returned, as the squadron members without active work found someplace else to be.

A shadow blocked some of the light flowing into Samantha’s workspace, a tap on her foot followed by a simple “Coxwain” caught her attention.

Coxwain.  She suppressed a sigh, and began to withdraw from the bay.  The captain of the salvage corvette only used her formal boat commander title when the rescue shuttle was the topic of concern which meant something had brought her Pinto, shuttle 327, to his attention.  Unfolding from the dark, cramped space, she took a moment to stretch and rub her eyes while collecting her thoughts.  Ritual completed, she turned and faced Lt. Commander Bergin. 

The Lieutenant Commander was of middling height but still taller and wider than Samantha's own diminutive build.  This meant she was forced to look up to see anything above his chin, causing the overhead lighting to cast his already considerably dark face into shadow.  If the man had any hair it might have helped the situation but as it were the light reflected from his head further into her green, light sensitive eyes.

“Sir?”  She asked while bracing to attention, squinting from the bay lighting.  The commander waved his hand.  “At ease, Cunningham.”  He motioned towards the open working hatch.  “My morning brief didn’t mention 327 being down for maintenance.”

Shifting her hands to behind her back and opening up her stance, she glanced towards the hatch as well.  "It has a shimmy, sir."

Bergin's eyebrow rose questioningly.  "A shimmy?"

Samantha nodded.  "Yes sir, a shimmy.  It's within tolerances, but..." She paused, carefully selecting her words.  "...but since the training schedule doesn't have us flying today and we're not on ready status, I felt it was a good opportunity to dig into it."

The Commander's expression hardened.  "I suppose you neglected to inform Lieutenant Vaughn?"  Under his gaze, Samantha resisted the urge to fidget and  made herself stand straighter.  Her Pinto was the best recovery shuttle aboard the Cuttlefish and, by her opinion, their mothership the Super-Carrier Sydney, making her by extension the best Coxswain in the fleet.  It was a bit presumptuous, she supposed, but then again Lieutenant Commander Bergin wouldn't be standing in front of her now if this weren't the case.

"In no way is my mission readiness compromised, sir.  I already ran 327 through the pre-flight checklist and can be skids-up inside twenty minutes."  Samantha met his eyes to show she wasn't bluffing; the Commander had a way of seeing through the bullshit and she was offering him none of that. 

Bergin returned the gaze and nodded slowly, his expression softening again.  "Good.  Get this closed up and be at the Bridge briefing room in one hour with your crew."  He turned to leave, but paused mid-turn.  "Oh, and Coxswain.  Next time keep your Lieutenant in the loop."



"Aye-aye, sir."

******

Everyone always asks me about what it was like growing up on Earth.  My response is always the same: just like anywhere else, except for the rain.  Oh, my shipmates from Mars like to say they've experienced rain, that the vast garden domes scheduled showers are just like what I describe, but they don't understand.  They've never seen the dark clouds building to the west, the lightning tearing angrily across the horizon.  They know nothing of the rumble of thunder, the roiling approach of the storm.  They've never felt the cool gust of wind of the outflow, pushing away the vast oppressive heat of the summer and do not understand the refreshment of the fat, cool drops falling from above.

None of them know the rain, not like I do. 

Being in it now makes my heart ache again, yearning for those days when I was a child, beside the shore of a lake.  Sitting on the cabin's porch with my father, listening to stories from when he was my age.  That constant background drumming on the roof in the attic at night, whisking me away to sleep.  To that, none of those who grew up in the pods and domes of the Moon can relate.  It's a concept outside the experience of my mates who grew up in the arms of the upper orbital stations, aboard the merchants plying the space between the conclaves of humanity. 

*****



Lieutenant Vaughn caught Samantha in the corridor between the squadron bay and the bridge.

"A word, Petty Officer?"

She stopped and turned towards the Squadron leader's office hatch, watching the Lieutenant bend his abnormally tall frame to fit through the hatch.  The height was both an effect of the low gravity in which he'd spent all of his life and chance in the genetic lottery of birth, as was the extremely pale skin of the hand he held up to motion her to walk with him.  She fell in alongside, and he shortened her stride to allow her to keep pace with him.

Samantha waited patiently for the officer to speak, though she knew what was likely coming.  Lieutenant Keith Vaughn had latched onto her since he'd come aboard Cuttlefish as the replacement for the old Squadron Leader, Lieutenant Frye Sanderson.  The old leader had died aboard the squadron's second shuttle, Figaro, when the small craft was cored by a stray grav lance in the midst of a particularly dense furball three months prior.  Considering grav lances were made to punch holes in battlecruisers and larger capital ships, there hadn't been much left to recover. 

The new Lieutenant, Vaughn, was accompanied by a replacement shuttle and crew which had been serving with him in his previous squadron and none were pleased with the reassignment.  Since the loss of the Figaro, the remainder of the squadron had looked to Samantha for leadership which marked her out to Vaughn, thus his attention on her every move.  To say it had been an unpleasant month and  a half was a bit of an understatement.

"I would appreciate it if the next time you plan on tearing your boat apart, you let me know before I go to the morning brief," he said after a several steps worth of tense silence.

Samantha frowned slightly.  "I take it you ran into the Commander?"

"Doesn't matter.  I don't feel like taking fire because a hotshot Petty Officer decided to do her own thing."  He craned his neck downward to look at her angrily.  "You dirtsiders have a saying, 'shit flows downhill.'  Do it again, and I'll ensure a good helping comes your way.  Understood?"



"Yessir.  My apologies sir."    Samantha kept her eyes forward and sighed internally when Lieutenant Vaughn looked away.  They reached the closed briefing room hatch and the Lieutenant stopped, facing her.  She turned to face him, bracing to attention.  "Are you joining the brief, or is that all, sir?"

His eyes still smoldering, he shook his head.  While fully respectful and within her bounds, she had essentially dismissed herself from his lecture and it clearly irritated him.  "No, that will be all, Petty Officer.  You may carry on."

"Aye-aye, sir."  She raised her hand into a salute and he gave a sharp response, wheeled, and stormed away.  She watched him for several moments and then turned and waved her hand in front of the hatch control.  The hatch slid open and she entered the room, lights coming on in answer to her presence, revealing an empty table surrounded by chairs with more on the perimeter of the room, a screen on one wall, and a closed door opposite of the entry hatch.  First one to arrive, just as she had planned.  She crossed and took a seat at the corner opposite of the screen with a view of the entry hatch.

It had only taken her a handful of minutes to close the opened panel, as she'd not had opportunity to actually do more than inspect the drive bay.  It irked her that she wouldn't be able to troubleshoot the drive, but the feeling was overpowered easily by the anticipation of getting out into open space-the confines of the Cuttlefish or any other ship always left her feeling caged.  The rest of the time had been spent making sure her duffel was aboard Pinto and rousting her two crewmen and flight engineer. 

The flight engineer, who doubled as her co-pilot, was simple enough to find as he'd been spending his free time in the simulators preparing for his own Coxswain Examinations.  The crew-dogs, however, had proven more elusive and when she had finally tracked them down she was…displeased.

Oh, there would be words later, she promised them.

Petty Officer Second Class Martin Wright, the flight engineer, was the first of her crew to arrive.  As he entered the briefing room, he gave her a nod.  "Cox'n," he greeted her, abbreviating her title.  Like her, he was a dirtsider from North America, his accent marking him out as being from the southeast.   

"I don't suppose you saw if the wunderkinder were coming, did you?"  She asked, swiveling her chair to follow as he took a seat directly behind her on the wall.  He shook his head to the negative.  "No sight of the two.  I'm sure they're lurking about nearby, waiting to make a last minute grand entrance.”

Samantha responded negatively.  “I doubt they’re doing anything more than avoiding me as long as they can get away with.  I caught them over in Medical playing cards with a couple of the medics.”  Wright’s eyebrows shot up. 

“I do recall you mentioning studying, racks and quals, and absolutely nothing about medics this morning...”

“And,” Samantha growled, “if Saunders keeps playing grabass with that blonde over there in medical instead of prepping for his tests next month, I’m pulling his flight status and kicking him back to Maintenance.”  As she finished, the crewman in question, one Jeoffery Saunders, entered the room followed by his accomplice Mikal Bendlin.  The pair of them tried to avoid eye contact with either NCO and were saved from the ire of their Coxswain by the light chuffing sound of the Commander’s entry door opening.  Bendlin, being the first one to see the Commander enter, called out a hurried “Attention,” further causing Samantha’s ire to catch in her throat.  Instead, she and Wright stood to attention, matching the young Crewmen in awaiting the Commander and the guest following behind.

Commander Bergin nodded.  “Take seats; Crewman Bendlin, please close and lock the hatch.”  The Commander gestured towards his guest, a non-descript man of indecipherable ancestry.  “This briefing is classified Top Secret; the following information is not to leave this room or you shuttle.  This is Mr. Robert Smythe, attaché from Central Colonization.  Mr. Smythe,” he said, yielding the floor.

“Good day cycle.  You all have been seconded to See-Two as transport for a survey crew to NPX-428103.”  The man’s voice was as bland as his features, with just enough undertone of accent to grate on Samantha’s nerves and she had to force herself to pay attention instead of be annoyed by it.  “At the end of this brief, you are to depart for the Sydney to pick up the crew.  At that time, the Fold Coordinates will be uploaded to your navigational computer and you will proceed to the target.  Landing coordinates will also be supplied by the survey crew upon arrival in system.”

The man held up his wrist and made a quick gesture and the screen at the head of the room sprang to life, displaying a green and blue world.  Seeing it made Samantha’s heart ache-it reminded her of home.  Behind her, one of the two crewmen let out a quiet whistle.  A life-supporting world, obviously untouched by any of the other races humanity had stumbled upon during their entrance to the interstellar scene, was a rare prize; it was no wonder See-Two was keeping it quiet by requisitioning a Fleet Shuttle instead of sending out one of their massive survey ships. 

“NPX-428103, codenamed Valhalla, is a standard Earth-analogue M-class world with both native flora and fauna.  Initial probe survey indicates there is no on-planet threat for the shuttle crew, while Fleet Intelligence has seen no evidence of Horuk activity in the vicinity.”  Samantha felt some of her tension bleed away-the other reason to send a shuttle like Pinto was because of the stealth systems built into it, allowing it to conduct SAR missions in an active battlefield much more easily.  If Horuk, a large bipedal species not much unlike the Orcs of old Earth fantasy, were anywhere in the vicinity she and her crew would have their work cut out for them.  Also much like said Orcs, the Horuk and humanity did not coexist peacefully.  In fact, the United Terran Sphere was in the midst of their third war with the aliens which was, just like the others, being fought to a standstill.

As it were, the more this Mr. Smythe said, the more pleasant the mission sounded.  Just the thought of being in fresh, real air again, even if only for the time it took to offload--

“--Coxswain Cunningham.” Samantha’s attention jerked back to the present. 

“Sir?”  She asked, silently admonishing herself for allowing her attention to drift.  Smythe, however, didn’t seem to have noticed.  “You will only need to plan for the six members of the team aboard your shuttle.  We will be attaching the survey habitation and equipment module externally to your shuttle once you arrive on Sydney.  Deployment instructions will be provided by the survey team as well.  Any questions?”

At the shuttle crew’s negative reply, Commander Bergin stood to the fore again.  “You have clearance for departure in one hour.  Get to it.”