Slingshot

Aaron Rosenberg

“Let’s move, people!” Callie Gunderson shouted as the doors slid open allowing them to pile into the launch room. “Sling in five!” Her team poured in behind her, each of them racing to their assigned post with the ease of long practice and the haste of necessity. Every second was precious but they’d done this enough times, both live and in simulation, to know that as long as they each stayed focused on their given tasks they could hit the launch window without any problems.

“I’ve got an anomaly here,” Heaven sang out, their voice clear and smooth, even melodious, despite the potentially dire pronouncement. “Weight is nearly 250 kilos over norm.” Their job was checking the allowances, making sure everything was within standard operating parameters.

“Are we still within tolerances?” Callie asked. She was over at her own station, which was medical, gathering the tools and medicines they’d need. This was an emergency evac so the goal was to get there, grab everyone, and get back, but there would probably be some patching up needed, either before bringing wounded onboard or once they were underway.

“Well within,” Heaven acknowledged. They tapped their screen. “And we can still fit the full crew complement for the return.”

“Then leave it,” Callie ordered. “We can check it in flight, see if there’s anything that got left behind by the last team—I’ll bet it was Havoc, that lazy ass—but as long as we won’t be over limit, it’s fine.” Going over limit was a serious issue, since the sling was carefully calculated for the established tolerances—add extra mass and the difference could change their angle, their velocity, their braking speed, or all of the above. Often with disastrous consequences. “Station check, sound off!” she called to the room at large.

“Allowances, check!” Heaven replied.

“Sling, check!” Django answered.

“Compartment, check!” came Bev’s response from within the capsule.

“Gear, check!” Tomas acknowledged beside Bev.

“Supplies, check!” Callie finished. She checked the countdown clock mounted on the wall. They had exactly two minutes left. “Launch positions!” She raced for the capsule, trailing Django but leading Heaven, and once inside the three of them joined Bev and Tomas, who were already buckling in. Django took the pilot’s chair and, as team lead, Callie claimed shotgun beside him, while Heaven took the first of the side seats on Django’s side, facing Bev and Tomas. Then it was just a matter of waiting for the clock to reach zero.

“Sling in five, four, three,” Django declared, finger hovering over the launch button. “Two, one—sling!”