Women in Wars of the Future

By William Gabriel

About the Book

 Four centuries from now mankind will have expanded into the Solar System with the most adventurous and capable of society. Our world of twelve billion people will have their best and brightest reach for the planets. By this time nearly two million people will live and develop the colonies of outer space. An Earth bound

• Language: English
• Publisher: Go To Publish
• Release date: Sep 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781647496036

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Women in wars of the future

Copyright © 2021 by William Gabriel

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher or author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Although every precaution has been taken to verify the accuracy of the information contained herein, the author and publisher assume no responsibility for any errors or omissions. No liability is assumed for damages that may result from the use of information contained within.

ISBN-E-Pub: 978-1-64749-554-1

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Contents

PREFACE TO WOMEN IN WARS OF THE FUTURE

ADRIAN

RICA LETTERMAN, A NEW LEGEND

PREFACE TO WOMEN IN

WARS OF THE FUTURE

Mankind has crossed the threshold of nearly two million inhabitants of the planetary system of the Solar System, leaving behind the Billions on Earth. Only the best and brightest make it and families are forming and thriving in the challenges of Space. A place of greater peril, but much greater prosperity, the advent of interplanetary economies are a driving force of humanity. A late comer to space has set on its maiden voyage the first warship in decades to exert its diplomatic and military influence on the mostly economic enterprises of commercial space. The first to ply the heavens in two decades, it has caught the major powers flat footed and at the mercy of its forceful presence. Roark’s Drift, the new warship, seeks to expand the domain of Sub-Saharan African Union and gather bargaining chips in the worldly game of gaining control of resources. Into this cauldron of interplanetary intrigue driven by Earth bound diplomacy three women must fight for survival. The older Earth bound powers must negotiate and their citizens in space adapt to this new force to be reckoned with. Only by their wits and ingenuity can they possibl y survive.

Jamison Fletcher is on her forth run from Earth to Saturn and back again, moving freight in the interplanetary trade. Free from the shackles of Earth, she plies her trade in peace and harmony. But she is the daughter of a U.S. Senator. As a target of interplanetary intrigue she must survive. She must save her family and risk all to retain her freedom.

Adrian is a Muslim newlywed on Titan who must look for her missing husband as Roark’s Drift occupies the orbital space above her home. She has a lucrative hydrocarbon extraction ranch and is sorely strained to keep it running all alone. Into the mix a pilot from the America’s is shot down and lands on her ranch. Together they must work together to escape the clutches of the occupying force.

Rica Letterman lost her parents three years ago in an accident while mining the asteroids. Alone, she has kept the family business alive and has prospered. A near legend as a teenager, surviving the perils of space, she has decided to find new crew members. Both await her on Saturn Station.

So we begin Women in Wars of the Future.

Jamison Fletcher:

Gravity, that natural, wholesome reminder that mother Earth was present and soothing. Down was down. Up was up. The enduring presence of this feeling reminded Jamey that she was still within the boundaries of humanity’s cradle. The very slight push of the astro-jet’s engine gave that gravity a slightly shifting perspective. Nuanced within her inner ear the balance mechanisms of her brain registered internally these shifting perspectives of force and gravity intermixed. The cushioned chairs of the passenger section within the astro-jet were designed to give comfort during this transition from earth’s gravity well and into low Earth orbit. The gentle pressures were absorbed by the feel of cushion and comfortable fabric. Her attire was that of a business woman. The fabric of chair and clothing slid across each other with little friction. Her long sleeves of her blouse acted as a slight barrier to the cold of the plastic arms of the coach seat she rested in. Around her there was the movement of other passengers of this flight. Some of the movements hurried as the passengers wished to finish their tasks before the slow transition to weightlessness began.

The stewardess made her slow progress down the aisle.

Please secure all belongings in your pockets or the overhead compartment. She chimed repeatedly as she helped this passenger or that in securing their belongings. The more veteran of flyers were already seated and some even snoozed a little as the less experienced flyers’ movements became hurried. The movements around her gave substance to the realm she was leaving and the elements of space that was her second home. Perhaps half of the passengers were tourists, spending hard earned money for a taste of what it is like in space. Low Earth orbit was easily achievable and the expense of going there had been relatively cheap for nearly a century now. Who would have thought that the third largest industry of low Earth orbit would become tourism. It was a pilgrimage like experience for most who would come once and then return home to tell their friends. The novices to flight were fidgeting around her as they worried whether their actions of securing their belongings were enough. Some began to stumble a bit and run into the chair arms of the aisle as gravity lightened. Jamey knew there would be about a twenty minute transition time from normal gravity to the weightless pull inexorably driving people to the back of the plane as it continued its acceleration to match the orbiting speed of New America. The last of the passengers pushed their way back to their seats and sat with the assistance of the stewardess soothingly giving directions for their securing. By the time she started down the aisle for her next set of instructions the downward pull had reduced to half gravity.

If you are feeling sick please use the bags located at the back of the chair in front of you… The tube activation for the vacuuming is on the lower left corner of the bag… And the repetition of the instructions were repeated again and again as the stewardess walked down the aisle.

At least I had enough sense to take some Dramamine. The older woman next to Jamey chortled. Best stuff in the world till I get to L5.

Jamey could tell that the older woman next to her was a spacer. A slight paunch from age, muscle tone was soft but strong. Hair short and a little dry from being in continuously stale and recycled air. Probably held a jockey job at L5 where she would maneuver automated equipment, called Waldos, and doing this across, through, and around the asteroids that were moved into the Shepard position of L5. Or she could be holding a manufacturing job where she monitored the robotics that created the finished products of circuitry, bulkhead rolling stock, air-purification stations, or the myriad other automated stations that required relatively well educated and detail oriented individuals.

On the other hand, Jamey knew herself to be different. She was slender with nearly no fat. Her shoulder length hair wrapped tightly into a bun at the top of her hair the only outward appearance of vanity. Her muscles were tight and detailed as on a regular day she would work out two hours on the resistance machine of her ship or her domicile. She had to maintain the highest of physical capabilities due to the fact that the accelerations of her ship would subject her to G-forces that over extended periods could harm a normally fit person. Her five foot-nine physique was slender yet well-muscled. Her arms and shoulders not quite brawny. Twenty eight years old and a smooth silken face with defined cheek bones and a long nose that was her family trait. Deep blue eyes took in the kaleidoscope of colorful clothing that moved in the final acts of stowing gear. Her austere gray business attire blended in more with the color of the jet’s seating., a contrast that afforded her a small amount of respect from the tourists. It portended serious business at the other end of her flight. And she thought about her upcoming business.

‘I hope the loading goes without a hitch.’ Her ship was one more flight away, docked at one of the many complexes that dwelt at the Lagrange Point five, or commonly called L5. It was the most congested area of space as well as the most guarded of neutral space. ‘Customs inspection should go smoothly.’ All ships were inspected for contraband cargo to include weapons or unregistered intoxicants. Her ship transported pressurized cargo which required custom’s inspection of each pallet as it was loaded. This accomplished after the interior was given a once over by the port authorities. They would probably be doing this as she now rested in flight. A ping on her cellular device alerted her to the fact that someone was on her ship. ‘At least they are on schedule.’ Things appeared to be going smoothly for her. Flights were on schedule, cargo had been certified as ready, and even the tourists seem to have found their seats and were all buckled in without too much fuss. Strapped into her chair she allowed herself some few minutes of meditation as weightlessness took hold of all aboard. Minutes drifted by as she contemplated her home in the asteroid belt and her child that was close to standing and walking along the floor as the nanny presided over his development. There was also Tagg and Qwell, two heavy long haulers in their forties that were nearly second father figures as former deep solar fighter pilots, or occasional lovers as the situation arose. Most of the time millions of miles separated them and not even direct talking over cellular networks would be feasible. But they were like family and gentle reminders of humanity’s reach into the solar system. These were kind and gentle thoughts that enfolded her inner awareness. Picturing that small bubble of personal space that traversed the colonization of the solar system, she wondered at the progress mankind had made even in the short span of her adult years. Just one small person in the vast expanse of the solar system, striving to make a profitable living in the deep vacuum of humanity’s reach.

Fourteen hours and one transition flight later she entered the realm of Jana-Corp Station. A sprawling complex of manufacture in the regulated space of Lagrange Point five. Anything placed in points L4 or L5 would stay there and no adjusting thrusters or nudges by space tugs were required to keep it in place. It was also in the Lunar Orbit path either following or preceding the Moon upon its trajectory. There was nearly no gravity well to contend with other than breaking free of the gentle pulls of both Earth and moon at that distance. Jana-Corp station was rated for twelve thousand workers and from last census exceeded that population level. Its primary manufacture were station components such as bulkheads, life support and a full range of integratable elements that would fit together to create the pressurized space of any station. Work on the station was achieved by five year contracts and a weaning process that picked only the brightest and fittest candidates for a work tour. Jamey’s flight had docked directly upon the half Gravity terminal complex with dozens of other station workers that were returning back from a trip home. They had all changed in flight from their colorful attire of Earth to the drab grays and browns of station attire that act as a functional element in delineating one’s job.

She effortlessly controlled her step so that she would not bounce too far off the floor of the loading docks where her ship was having its cargo loaded. The acrid plastic smell of battery powered forklifts and the slight odor of human sweat from human exertion could not quite be filtered out by the stations air filtration system. The half gravity lent the dockworkers an air of superhuman strength as they lifted and stacked corrugated boxes upon pallets and checked their manifesting instructions. She had four pressurized containers to be loaded and as she stepped lightly down the dockway, she could see doorway number eighteen which was linked to her ship. A forklift exited the hatchway and a government regulator standing at the door made a notation on his computer pad. She made her way to the side of the regulator dressed in bright orange. He turned to acknowledge her presence.

You must be Captain J. Fletcher? He had a cheery aspect to his demeanor. A person that must enjoy his work. He smiled a disarming smile and pointed to the screen of his tablet. Looks as though another twenty minutes of loading Mamm. We are on the last container.

Excellent! was her best reply. Rated to five gravities? It was small talk, yet important. The load rating would determine how far she could push herself and her ship and still retain insurance for any damaged freight.

If you could go five G acceleration I would give you cudos and accolades, but the load is rated for that. The inspector brushed some hair away from his brow. A nervous gesture in thinking that she could push her ship and cargo to such exertions. You will need to sign for the insurance papers in the office under notary. He then grasped his tablet in both hands and seemed to draw inward in a slightly defensive stance. Appears the tension between the Americas and the African Confederacy has the insurance companies a little on edge. He seemed almost apologetic for the added step in the debarkation process. She thought little of the added step. This being her forth run with her relatively new ship a new procedure did not seem out of the ordinary.

How long until you are done? She was ready to go as soon as possible. Never much for pleasantries, she knew the inspector would respect her desire to limit her time at the loading docks.

Probably another twenty or thirty minutes…Then they have to set the cushions… So give it forty five. Another pallet was brought up by the loader and the inspector’s attention went to the new product to be loaded. Not rude in action, just knowing that the shorter the time on the dock the better the profits for everyone involved. Station life at Jana-Corp revolved around profits.

She made her way to the shipping office and went through the pressurized doorway. Compartmentalized and sealable reminded everyone of the vacuum that existed just outside the bulkhead. The easy going attitude of everyone on the docks was a reflection of almost daily drills of donning their pressure suits kept not far from each of their workstations. Though in the three short years that she hauled freight for Jana-Corp she had never even heard of a breach in the pressure seals separating the dock from deep space. The inner seal of the office meant that the daily routine of donning pressure suits before each shift was not part of their routine. She entered through the door and closed it behind her. The soft thrwump of pressurization signaling the door had sealed. She looked across the desk at the woman who was busy typing away at some report. She stopped at the front of the desk and waited patiently for the woman to stop what she was doing. After a few moments the seemingly hurried woman finished and stared up at Jamey.

Jamison Fletcher here to sign some insurance papers. Her voice was relaxed though a little stilted. At the end of saying ‘papers’ the woman across the desk became animated. She reached briskly for a tablet on the right side of her desk and immediately started to work its table.

Oh it is so good that you could make it in with such good timing Miss Fletcher. Or do you prefer Captain? With that the woman thrust the tablet out to hand it to Jamey in one fluid motion. If you could just sign at the bottom that you legally acknowledge your cargo is rated for no more than 4.99 gravities acceleration. There was a controlled smile that punctuated the request.

Jamey could care less what she was called and she voiced it while taking the tablet and signing. Does not matter what they call me. I do the same work in either case… Captain does sound nice to some though. She handed back the tablet. They say this is because of some tension between the Americas and the African Confederacy. I didn’t hear much during my downtime on Earth.

Oh, we must keep up on current situations Captain. The African Confederation just put on line a new space destroyer… Roark’s Drift or some name like that. The tone of the woman changed and she seriously looked Jamey straight in the eye. Their surface fleets are facing off against each other over fishing rights around the Azores and Grand Banks. The new solar destroyer of the Confederacy is rumored to have fighters and shuttles for boarding commercial haulers like you.

There was a slight drop in her stomach. You mean fighters to intercept and do combat and shuttles to board pressurized shipping?

Exactly Captain… We do not quite know the ramifications yet, but boarding a fishing boat on the high seas has about the same legal premise as boarding a deep solar hauler in mid-flight.

But I am flagged under the Americas so only they or the United Nations monitors are allowed to board? This was not a good turn of events. Politically she was exposed during such confrontations. Most all solar navies had the ability to search unpressurized cargo holds and the exterior of ships for any contraband. This had been the normal mode of transporting such contraband things and even the captains and crews of ships might not know what was secreted away on the exterior of their loads. Once inspected and pressurized it was almost impossible to secret something aboard without being observed and forced to re-inspect upon arrival at the destination. Pressurized boardings were perilous and who knew what hostile governments would plant on boarded ships to confiscate the ship and incarcerate its crew.

We are insuring your cargo to under five gravities of acceleration and with the promise that you are transporting no contraband. The serious look became stern. This is Jana-Corp and an international entity with subsidiaries on five major continents. We deal with government issues as we are able. The woman seemed to consider the conversation at an end and turned back to the terminal to begin typing another entry. Jamey understood and left through the sealed door and back out onto the loading docks where the air felt fresher at that moment. She realized that she had just signed on to a run that had slightly greater risk and was perturbed at herself for not renegotiating her contract for a higher percentage of the profits of the run. She crossed the docks to the portal leading to the gangway that would grant her entrance into the inhabited portion of her ship. As she was about to pass through the gangway portal she glanced back at the inspector and received a nod of approval from the man. Perhaps he knew what was running through her mind as she went through the portal.

It was not just the perils of deep space that she might contend with now, but a more dangerous peril, the vagaries of international politics and its repercussions throughout the Solar System.

She sat in her command chair with the console controls in easy reach of her right hand. Voice activated computations were crunched by her computer as it calculated the desired trajectory from the fringes of L5. She gave the orders both by voice and by right hand to undock and double check the pressurization levels within her four cargo containers. Small, deft movements created by the chemical thrusters slowly maneuvered her ship away from the docks. This was always a moment of passage with nervousness and adrenaline coursing through her as she maneuvered from the confines of the docks. Mostly done through cameras observing the immediate space around her, things were too close for radar to be of use. A chiming voice came over her intercom from Jana-Station.

Undocking complete, you are now in the ten kilometer an hour zone.

Space near to the stations was highly regulated and a slow and prodigious act to maneuver away from. There were preplanned entrance and exit routes from the differing incoming and outgoing trajectories. Each station had its own space-traffic control and communicated with each other as situations warranted. She applied her chemical thrusters to bring her speed up to the ten kilometer per hour max that would be her speed for the next ten minutes.

Time passed and the nervousness abated as she crossed into the hundred kilometer per hour zone. Radar was fully functional now and collision warnings would be effective in preventing any accidents. Within the next ten minutes she had crossed the barrier of thirty Kilometers from the nearest station and could start up her fusion drive. There were over two dozen stations like Jana-Station at L5 each producing its own contribution to the solar system. Thirty kilometers was considered the safe zone for her thruster rating and she decided to wait a few more minutes to insure that she would be well away from humanity before she would activate her drive. Course laid in, she would set her acceleration level at 1.25 gravities and monitor the first hour of her flight before hitting the weights so to speak. Particulate Hydrogen was the fuel and her engines were rated as the most economical for their production cycle. During her travel to her home in the Asteroid belt and then onward to Saturn Station of the Americas her ship would expend less than a quarter metric ton of fuel. And the production of Hydrogen was the gas giant’s melody. ‘Everything is well’, she thought to herself. Yet the warning of the woman behind the counter tugged at her mind.

Seventeen years ago the Solar System surpassed the million inhabited mark in space. Though about half the inhabitants occupied the stations around Lagrange Point Four and Five the slow sprawling out into the space between Earth and the Gas Giants seem inexorable. Space had just become an independently created social organism that could theoretically survive on its own now. But it was a relatively exclusive club that was controlled mostly by the major corporations that had invested in space manufacturing over the past century. These manufacturers contracted out their own security forces to regulate any contraband shipping and only reluctantly allowed weapons into space for their own policing purposes. It was only the last two decades that military forces of the major continental powers built military based space ships to contest the nearer regions of the Solar System.

This was not to say that deep space fighters had not existed over the past century, because the United States and China had them in abundance. It was the larger ships that could operate for months outside the refueling at a major station that had evolved over this past two decades. Both China and the Americas had two mothballed ships of war. This meant most Space Marine detachments and heavily armed forces that could contest a station’s ruling power enforced by a lightly armed security force were demobilized. The balance would shift as each major trading block of politically competitive regions christened a new ship in their ‘Solar Fleet’. A new destroyer with boarding capabilities definitely shifted that balance. China and the Americas agreed that these ships were destabilizing forces within the Solar system. But now the African Union, A confederacy of sub-Saharan nations, were evidently deploying a ship of their own.

Outside that calculation, she added that quarter of a gravity to her acceleration and knew that could cut her travel time in half compared to operating at only a gravity of acceleration. She was young and in top shape so the extra drag on her limbs and body at 25% heavier rating would be worth the slight but added strain. The faster she could put some distance between her and that new warship the better. She recalculated her travel time and then sent out an interplanetary e-mail to the recipients of her cargo at Saturn Station. They would receive it across the depths of space in about two hours traveling at light speed. She was in position for the activation of her engines and she hit the start sequence. With her main engines engaged she felt the downward pull of inertia pressing her down within her seat. A minute later the hum of her engines vibrating through the metallic floor of her command room mixed with the stark sensation of residing in one and a quarter gravities. Her arms seemed a little heavier in her movements, as if they had a five pound, or two kilogram weights attached to her wrists. She typed away at her keyboard and recalculated and rechecked her figures. All seemed well as she monitored her progress over the next half hour. Nothing was within a thousand miles of her trajectory, so she rose from her chair to hit the weight machine not more than a couple meters from her command chair.

She thought that she might start to write that novel she had felt would make good reading. A ‘who done it’ about a murder on Jana-Station. Or maybe just start the streaming of news in the hopes that some piece of information about the confrontation between the Americas and the African Confederacy filters through so she can make better decisions during this and following runs. She opted for some music at that moment and the refrains from the more recent rhythms and melodies of the latest songs that had an upswing in mood creation. Music had become so differentiated reflecting the drives and desires of so many different elements of humanity. She listened to the dance and exercise songs that reflected the need to move and dance in synchronization with the beat. Two sets of straining against the resistance and she felt her heart rate begin to pick up, the thumping of her heart growing a little deeper in her chest. She felt her body meld with the machine and the ship itself in concert with the pushing the cargo through the vastness of space. Another song played, then another, each time she started another set of lifting and straining as the rhythm and workout brought her body closer to the threshold of fatigue. She felt alive and at the same time a part of the ship itself as it accelerated through the depths of space. The first hour passed as she embraced the differing directions of exertion and began to push the limits of her endurance. Arms, legs, neck, and abdomen muscles began to slow as fatigue set in with each additional set. The humming vibrations of the ship itself seemed to permeate through to her very bones. She felt as part of the ship, a living breathing extension of its worth to humanity’s spread across the Solar System. Then she finished the last set and her body resonated with a sigh of relief. The long hours of getting to Jana-Station and then her ship into flight rested heavily upon her consciousness.

She went to the bathing cubicle and rinsed off the sweat that her body had accumulated. Not much perspiration in the coolness of her command room and she was in excellent shape. Washed and ready to bed down for a few hours she was prepared for the rhythm of ship life now. Alone and wary, hurtling across the expanse of space within the Solar System she allowed herself to doze off. A blissful sense of being where she belonged enfolded her as sleep overtook her senses.

Kadir Malibantu climbed the ladder that led to the bridge of his ship. The metal enfolded by his gripping hands seemed cool and unyielding. He rolled over in his mind the elements of his ship that were readying for the maiden voyage. He reached the last rung of the ladder and stepped onto the bridge proper. An eight meter by eight meter and four meter high space housing all the required stations for command of the ship was the nerve center for the entirety of his command. Around the perimeter the consoles and stations blinked lights stating the readiness of, or the act of readying for the initial separating from station. Their position of docking at the station afforded them near gravity like conditions and he strode to his command chair taking in the sights and sounds.

Captain on the deck! Resounded a shout from the first person to recognize that he had entered the personal realm of his command.

At ease… carry on. Came the reflexive reply from his lips without even thinking. He made it to the command chair and sat unceremoniously. Taking in the sights and sounds of the ten different stations within the bridge was a soothing activity. Each of his subordinates were busy running through the diagnostics of their stations or examining this or that detail which was required for the travel from station. From a distance he could tell how well each station was performing. Life support showed a slight excess of oxygen being injected into the ventilation system. Navigation was flashing red from the close proximity of other ships that had undocked previously and were still in their projected path of departure. The bridge was designed for just such scrutiny so that the general status of things like damage control, communications, radar/light signatures, and other required statuses could be seen at a glance by the commander of the ship.

An enlisted person from off the ship approached and saluted him. Then the man’s hand shot out with a packet. Final instructions from headquarters. The man stepped back and awaited some form of acknowledgement.

That will be all Yeoman. Thank You.And the enlisted man left the bridge and to Kadir’s knowledge, off the ship before it debarked. ‘Sealed instructions?’ He thought to himself. He had spent the last twenty years of his life readying for such a command. Up from the ranks of the African Confederacy’s deep space fighter pilots to be executive command officer for their patrol ships that inspected cargos flagged under the Confederacy. He had mastered the melding of gun boat diplomacy with an uncanny ability to read his superiors and give them what they wanted. And now there was the general maneuvers of politics Earth side that warranted the flexing of space navy muscle. He opened the seal to the instructions. They were relatively vague, yet gave wide latitude in their execution.

***

Proceed to Mars and conduct a Holeman Whip at maximum velocity to exit upon a Trajectory to Saturn Space. Commit such acts as necessary as to provoke an international incident requiring adjudication by the United Nations Security Council. *** Certain Cargo carriers should fall under scrutiny and be boarded, stopped through use of force, or otherwise be interdicted in the exercise of African Confederacy security. Weapons cargo are especially important items to engender confiscation.

***

The communication went on to give wide latitude in instruction and it was relatively loosely written so as to acquit him of any war crimes under U.N. jurisdiction as he was operating under the instructions of his superiors. He glanced down the list of possibly suspect shippers to be boarded if they were within the maneuver corridors of his orders. His main mission was the creation of an interplanetary incident around Mars that would draw in the major powers into U.N. discussion. Then take station off Saturn’s moon of Titan and be ready for combat with any fighters of the Americas that might deploy out of Saturn Station. As he ran down the list of possibly suspect cargo haulers one name seemed to jump out at him. The second daughter of the Chairman of the U.S. Senate Arms Services Committee would make a political pawn worth numerous newscasts and the seizure of John Thomas Fletcher’s daughter would make any complaints by the U.S. government as politically and personally motivated. He took the list in his right hand and got up from his chair to walk over to the communications station. He thrust the list before the operator and gave a calm and collect order.

I want to know the trajectories and positions of all these ships on the list and calculate how far from Mars trajectory to Saturn.

Yes Sir. Was the muted reply of the Comm’s officer.

Kadir knew it was a perilous political game that he was about to embark upon on this maiden voyage. Some within the military cabinet of the African Confederacy wanted war. Such incidents in the colonies of old Earth at time precluded such final outcomes. And in the deepest depths of space, on humanity’s fringe, he would now be at the cutting edge of the sword.

***

Time passed and one day was much like the next for Jamey. It was now the third day of her voyage and all was running smoothly. She decided that this would be the hours that she conducted a ship board inspection of her freight. Her cargo was packed tightly for greatest profitability. She would use her video mouse to crawl through the crevasses between the pallets and the inflated cushions that held everything in a tight bond. She could not actually open the doors to the freight holds since her ship was actually pushing against the cargo containers. The doors were now the bottom part of the container with the pallets lined up on top of it. The engine of her ship gave thrust from the lower, or downward portion of her ship. Everything else sat upon the drive portion of the engine as it spewed out its irradiated fusion reaction with its half containment shell. The thrust of the fusion drive pushed upward and gave the impression of gravity to those that stood upon it. When it came time to decelerate her ship would cut the engines and be weightless for a short time while she turned the ship one hundred and eighty degrees and then reactivated her engines. The she would again be in the gravity rating that she presumed best for her travel.

What this meant is that the mouse had to crawl upward along the length of each cargo container, flitting in and out between each pallet to discern if there was any possible shifting of the loads. Each pallet was attached to the sides of the container so that one pallet would not be resting against another. This to prevent crushing of the cargo during high G maneuvers. She let out a slight exhale at the midpoint of checking the first container. The tedious process seemed more tiring than a good workout on her resistance machine. But it had to be done. Any shifting at 1.25 gravities would probably not cause any damage, but she had to check just in case she needed to achieve a faster acceleration. After two hours of painstaking maneuvering of the mouse she finished the inspection of her first container and decided a short break was in order.

She went back to her command chair and decided that finding where her friends were at would be a good idea. Also a message to her Nanny/Maid would be in order to give notice to when she planned on stopping by and seeing her child. The stopover would add ten days to her travel time to Saturn Station of the Americas, but not its profitability. Her parents were not overly wealthy, but still part of the upper strata of society. This gave her a relaxed attitude towards time. By twenty three she had seen much of the world and felt a need to be away from its overcrowded state. She typed out the message to her home. A hollowed out and tunnel filled asteroid that had been one of the older mining operations looking for rare earths. Sealed up and set to spin it would provide a veritable playground for children to develop in the altering gravities of its interior. She would soon start the advertisement for other families to join her. It would be her domain and another addition to the now ever expanding outreach into the solar system.

She tapped the send icon for her message home and in ten minutes her message would reach the computer station and ping that an important message had arrived. Attached to the exterior of her rotating asteroid was the living module