Zingers!

[Crash Calestorm 0]

The following log takes place immediately after the 06.27.11 Sim…

 

Trooper Johnny Rico: I hear you got a bug problem ma'am?

Corporal Birdie: Ah, stuff it, Rico!

Starship Troopers (1997)

 

Some days, it just didn’t pay to get out of bed.

 

The hanger bay had descended into chaos, metallic wasps were swarming all over and had spilled out into the side corridors. If the situation continued, it was only a matter of time before they overwhelmed the rest of the ship. If the command protocols had kicked in when the internal sensor alarms had registered the problem, then that meant main Engineering and the command Bridge were sealed off.

 

For now. She hoped.

 

Like the group Cale had holed up with, there were pockets of resistance fighters taking cover in the offices, alcoves, locker and equipment areas, the heads, anywhere that they could grab a few minutes refuge from the metal wasps that had descended on the crew.

 

The captain had taken the brief respite to clean up, and it wasn't due to vanity. The simple fact was that her leather and cloth tribal wear offered zero protection to the venom substance that the little mother fraggers spit. Calestorm had hopped into the pilot showers, done a five minute clean up, and grabbed a fresh uniform. The modern fabric of the uniform offered a margin of protection from the low grade acid.

 

As she jetted out in a starfighter any chance she got, it was practical to keep a locker in the vacuum rider quarters. She grabbed her command tunic from the assigned locker, the dark gold of the fabric catching the overhead lighting slightly and she skinned it on over her head.

 

Now, she dealt with her mangled hand. She’d have to get with Doc, but for now she managed to get a medicinal salve on it and a field bandage.

 

A wasp had come right at her, and in a reflex action, she’d swatted at it. Not a huge fan of anything remotely vespine looking, she hadn’t been able to help the reaction. The damn thing proceeded to clamp down on her hand, serrated legs and mandibles clawing, and juiced her with a shot of whatever the acidic stuff was. It wasn’t necessarily a life threatening wound, but Cale was betting if several dozen of the wasps had splattered her at the same time, she’d be dead.

 

“Hurts, doesn’t it, Sir?” Ensign Honor-Scar had appeared in the far entry way of the combination locker room and showers

 

Breaking down in front of the crew was generally not well accepted, so Crash managed a neutrally pained “Uh-huh”.

 

The junior officer grabbed at her tail and held it so Calestorm could see the kink at the end of the appendage. “I accidentally tangled with a Zinger when I was younger.”

 

She hadn’t really cared for Ensign Honor-Scar - and Crash was more of a dog person, which didn’t help matters - when the young Caitian had transferred on board. Good pilot, quick reflexes. Whether or not she was senior officer material remained to be seen. Right now, it was obvious through her body language the felinoid just wanted to help.

 

“Zingers you call them? What in the hell are they Ensign?”

 

“Well, the units that are attacking us look like…I guess your Earth wasps are pretty close? Most frontier settlers use them as perimeter defense, for farms and stuff, to keep rustlers and local animals away. Professional mercenary crews and para-military units tend to use them for operational security. They have limited programming, so it’s not like you can program one extensively.”

 

“So basically, we’re dealing with some kind of interceptor security drone? Did your family use ‘em?”

 

Honor-Scar came from a family based mercenary background, and the kid perked up a bit. “Aye Sir! We used the old KC-17 models, mainly for ground patrols when we deployed planet-side. Confederation Models and DiTaykan Limited are the two main companies that supply the interceptors…though the black market trade is pretty flush with modified Zingers. They mainly come in two sizes, four inch and six inches, standard and deluxe packaging. Most buyers go for the wasp or scorpion models. If bugs aren’t your thing, they also have raptor, hawk and feline models.”

 

The golden furred Caitian wrinkled her nose, and her ears flattened against her head. “I don’t really care for the cat models myself. Way too creepy. And these things? These Zingers are really blinged out Captain. The electric stings, the corrosive spitting, the barbs on the legs…I’m not an expert on the finances, but these are custom jobs and the cost can be pretty high.”

 

The captain’s gaze flicked to a downed Zinger from where someone had smashed it up against a locker, letting it fall to the decking. The four inch metallic wasp was mangled, the energy lights dark, the stinger not crackling with electrical energy. She also noted the visible venom spit sacks or whatever they were held none of the clear fluid, possible expelled after one use. How in the hell could something that little cause so much havoc?

 

“Oh, I’m sure the Black Kris had something to do with the custom nastiness of these models Ensign.”

 

Crash ruefully flexed her injured hand; she sure wouldn’t be taking a starfighter out for the next couple few weeks. Thank God it was her left hand though. She slowly picked herself up off the bench and reasserted her gaze to the felinoid.

 

“Ensign, find the Commander, and report to her what you just told me about these…Zingers. Spread the word to the other pockets of resistance on the deck as best you can. Be careful, take someone with you to watch your back. Let’s get word to Engineering and the Command bridge as well.”

 

If Honor-Scar had any misgivings about her assigned mission, she didn’t show it in her answering “Aye Sir!”