Slaves of Hyperion (Star Crusades Uprising, Book 6) by Michael G. Thomas Read Free Book Online Page B

it whisked by and then walked away towards what many of them affectionately called the spiral. The people were waiting patiently as the rotating part of the ship moved along the central core. A number of long metal ladders ran the width of the section and appeared to move slowly around the core. A crewmember grabbed the metal and lifted himself up. He looked up and followed two more as they moved towards the rotating central core. Of course, in reality, the spokes and the rotating section were actually moving around the motionless central spindle. As they moved closer to the top, the spinning section appeared to slow down. It was all an illusion, however, as this part of the ship rotated at a complete three revolutions per minute. It was enough to create the same level of gravity as experienced back on Earth but was only used on the main habitation parts of the ship.
    “Sir, good luck with the conference,” said the burly sergeant waiting to help those climbing onto the spiral wheel.
    Spartan pulled up a few rungs before looking back.
    “Thanks, I can’t wait.”
    He continued to move along the ladder and quickly noticed the change in gravity. Each rung made him feel lighter as he moved towards the central core. He’d seen many a marine feel sickness at this point, and vomiting in low or near zero gravity was a sight he would have happily forgotten. A few more seconds, and he reached the central section. He pulled himself onto the platform and waited for a moment as he relished the feeling of weightlessness. The spokes extended out around him to the rim of the rotating section. He turned back to the cylindrical section and pulled himself along the tube-shaped structure. It didn’t take long for him to move through to the next part of the ship where the transport hangars were located. A young sergeant signalled to him from one of the larger craft.
    “Sir, this is yours.”
    Spartan nodded and continued to pull himself towards the vessel. It was a slow and complex procedure to transfer from the rotating section to the stationary parts of the ship, and usually only carried out when absolutely necessary. During combat operations, marines would often be stationed in the annex quarters, a number of zero-gee rooms in the next compartment over from the landing bay. It allowed them to transfer to landing craft and transports in seconds rather than minutes. He pulled himself inside the vessel and towards a seat near the port side window. Like the other dozen people already inside, he quickly fitted his harness. The last thing anybody wanted was somebody floating about when they hit the atmosphere and the gravitational pull of Terra Nova.
    “Departure in four minutes, please check your harnesses and stow any loose items,” came the automated voice that he’d heard so many times in the past.
    Spartan didn’t need to check. He’d done this so many times already. What he didn’t like was the dress uniform he’d been forced to wear. Though most of the depleted Marine Corps units were now disbanded or amalgamated, they had yet to receive any kind of new dress uniform. Even Spartan’s Vanguard unit had been unable to survive in anything like its original form. After substantial equipment losses and casualties, the survivors were now being used to train recruits on Prime and Terra Nova in order to raise more recruits for the elite unit. With major combat operations now over, most of the heavy exo-armour had been returned to the military stores for maintenance with just a handful retained on each of the Marine Transports. He’d been told that the unit was to be reformed with more manpower and equipment, but for now the unit had been placed as inactive, pending rebuilding. Since the formation of the ASOG units he’d been out of touch though.
    Would rather be with them right now, he thought.
    He had been forced to use his Marine Corps dress uniform until something more appropriate was designed for the ASOGs, assuming the unit