Not With A Whimper: Survivors
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Not With A Whimper: Survivors
D.A. Boulter (c) 2018
Copyright page
This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events are fictitious and any similarity to people, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright (2018) by D. A. Boulter, all rights reserved
Cover Design by D.A. Boulter
Image: by innovari (from Depositphotos.com)
Not With A Whimper Books:
Not With A Whimper: Producers
Not With A Whimper: Destroyers
Not With A Whimper: Preservers
Not With A Whimper: Survivors
Yrden Chronicles Books:
Trading For The Stars (Book 1)
Trading For A Dream (Book 2)
Other Amazon Books by D.A. Boulter
Courtesan
Pelgraff
Pilton's Moon / Vengeance Is Mine
ColdSleep
The Steadfasting
Prey
Enemy of Korgan
Ghost Fleet
In The Company of Cowards
A Throne At Stake
D.A. Boulter’s blog: http://daboulter.blogspot.ca/
D.A. Boulter can be contacted at: mailto:dougboulter@gmail.com
This series is dedicated to Mrs Jennifer Hanes, my grade 12 English teacher, who believed in my creative abilities. Thank you, and Rest In Peace.
Note:
Although the 4 books of the Not With A Whimper Series take place concurrently, and can thus be read in any order, the preferred reading order (according to the author) is: Producers, Destroyers, Preservers, Survivors.
This will present the reader with the fewest spoilers, though some are unavoidable as characters from each book interact with those from the others.
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
Author’s Note
Books by D.A. Boulter
CHAPTER 1
Amalgamated 684 on Earth-African Nations run
Tuesday 04 May
Wen Carson cursed as he approached the lifeboat. He cursed Captain ‘Red’ Sullivan for giving him this duty and, for good measure, he cursed Jaswinder Saroya – on general principles.
The hatch to the lifeboat stood open – and that shouldn’t be. Wen frowned as he stepped up to check the hatch log. He peered down, his shoulder-carry bumping into the pedestal. Someone would find themselves at the captain’s table.
“Pilot Carson?”
He cursed again, this time under his breath, as he recognized the voice.
“Ms Fulton, I didn’t know you had duty here this shift.” He turned from the log to the open hatch to see her brilliant white smile in her dark face, and sighed. She’d obviously changed shifts with someone to catch him alone like this.
“Angela,” she corrected him, as if she hadn’t done that fifty times before.
“Ms Fulton,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her, “I have my preventive maintenance inspection routine to complete. I assume you have drawn the passenger cabin PMI. I suggest we both repair to our various duties.”
Carson slipped past her, and turned to his left to enter the piloting chamber. He heard her sigh, and then her footsteps, as she turned right toward the passenger cabin to count supplies, note their due dates, and replace where necessary. He hoped that she would complete her routines and leave, but doubted that his luck would grant him that relief. After all, his luck had placed him here, now, when he should have duty on the bridge.
His rank as First Pilot – not only of the ship, but of Amalgamated Lines itself – gave him the right to sit first chair of the piloting station during drop from, and jump to, hyperspace when he was on shift – even if another pilot did the actual drop or jump. His argument with Captain Sullivan had that worthy relegate him to PMI detail, while Fourth Pilot Trebuche took his place. “It will give him experience,” the captain had told him.
“Bloody Sullivan,” he said to the empty chamber, and sat down in the pilot’s chair. He lowered his shoulder-carry to the deck, smiling at the clink he heard. The end of this shift would see him to his off-day – and he’d spend it here, getting good and drunk.
Lil wouldn’t like that, but Lil had laughed at him when he told her of his dust-up with Sullivan – and its result. Had said it served him right, and to enjoy. Carson switched on the piloting board, bringing it to standby. He went through the checklist, half his mind on this duty and half on Lil. Perhaps a day without him would remind her not to laugh at him – at least not where others could hear.
He shifted seats to Navigation, and turned on the NavTank. He glanced at the information, repeated from the ship’s main tank. African Nations. “Damn and blast Jaswinder Saroya,” he muttered.
“Why?” Angela Fulton appeared in the cabin’s hatch.
“Why what?” Carson asked her.
“Why do you curse Ms Saroya – I’ve heard you do it before – and who is she?”
“Don’t you have duty in the passenger cabin?” Carson didn’t bother looking at her. She would only take that as encouragement. Let some other man, someone who didn’t have a partner like Lil, lead her down the path to experience.
“All done, Pilot,” she said.
He could almost hear a salute in her voice. She laughed at him, he knew. He ignored that, but raised his eyebrows. “So soon? That sounds like a cursory inspection only.”
“I started early, Pilot Carson.”
He groaned to himself. He believed her. She had started early so she could buttonhole him here, now. He didn’t need that. He didn’t need this damned duty, either, blast and damn Sullivan. He didn’t want Fulton around. He did, however, want his whiskey, and that would only come upon completion of the PMIs. A thought came: a second person might speed that up, even if they knew nothing.
“Why do you curse this Jaswinder Saroya?” Fulton asked again.
“Sit down, and I’ll tell you about it,” Carson said. “But only if you give me a hand.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Here.” He handed her the reader with the checklist and pen. “I’m on step 5. Read the next item.”
Fulton glanced down at the page. “Don’t you know all the steps by heart?”
He grimaced. If he had to explain everything, this would take longer with her helping than it would if he did it all by himself.
“Yes, I do, but I might skip one through inattention. The checklist prevents that. Step 6 if you please.”
“Turn Range Gauge to ‘4’ and engage test circuitry.”
Carson made the necessary moves, and nodded. Fulton checked off Step 6, and read Step 7. She made no further extraneous comments for a time, and Carson appreciated that. His duty did,
indeed, progress more rapidly than it might have.
“This is really interesting,” she said as he manipulated the telescope controls. “Why a telescope when you have the detectors?”
“Detectors can malfunction, the antennae might get damaged during the emergency that caused the crew to abandon ship. The telescope controls can all be run on manual, without power.”
“Wow!”
Wow? Carson turned to look for sarcasm, but her face showed that this had truly impressed her. He adjusted himself in his seat, the better to see her.
“This interests you?”
Her eyes locked on his, and all the coy looks that she’d tried to use on him disappeared. She searched his face for any look of condescension. Apparently satisfied, she confided in him.
“I always wanted to become a pilot. Still do.”
“Then you’re screwed, same as me. Damn and blast Saroya!”
“Why? And who is this Saroya?”
Carson leaned back in his chair, and looked up to the instrumentation above the shielded window. Why not? Why not tell her? It might do him some good to get the venom out of his system. Then he could enjoy the booze instead of using it as a poor man’s anaesthetic.
“You’re screwed because you signed on with Amalgamated Shipping, same as I did. I, at least, have an excuse: I signed up 20 years ago, before Saroya – damn and blast her – changed everything. You, you have no such excuse. You should have done due diligence: researched your dream job.” No, he shouldn’t discourage her, now that she’d committed herself, knowingly or not.
“Want to take a peek out the telescope?”
Carson contained his grin as Fulton’s eyes went wide. “Could I? Could I really?”
“Of course.” He made no move toward the controls, however, and her face fell. “You’ll have to wait until after drop, though. Nothing to see in hyperspace.”
“But then I can?” She seemed more doubtful. As if he’d play such a mean trick.
“Yes, and you can unship the telescope yourself. I’ll let you do all the work, take the reading on the buoy, and navigate us in, if you want.” He checked the chronometer. “Soon. However, we have time to do the next on the list. What is it?”
“The CO2 scrubbers.”
She read the opening steps, and he began the calibrations. In between steps, she started on her questions.
“What about Jaswinder Saroya?”
“That’s not how you say her name.”
“It’s how you do.” Fulton furrowed her brow.
“No. Listen carefully. Her name is: Jaswinder ‘Damn-and-Blast-Her’ Saroya. Don’t forget her middle name. Otherwise it comes out too innocent-sounding, and she’s as guilty as hell. Try it again.”
Fulton gave him an incredulous look but, when he refused to continue, she gave in.
“OK. What about Jaswinder – damn and blast her – Saroya?” She laughed delightedly at his look of approbation.
Carson smiled. He felt better now than at any time since the argument with Captain Sullivan. Having a fresh audience – someone who would not find his rant old news – gave him a lift.
“As a young boy, I had always dreamt of becoming a pilot. You know how that is.”
She did. “Me, too. Though not as a young boy, of course.”
“No, I guess not.” He absently wondered when she got her curves. “Anyway, I took all the math classes and science classes I could to further this goal, though my parents never believed I’d attain it. Too many people want off of Earth, and competition for piloting positions is fierce. I worked my butt off, but I made it all the way to starship pilot. Only five of us out of a competition of 300 hopefuls did. So, I signed on with Amalgamated – first offer I got. How did you get your position, by the way?” Even attendant status looked good to a plethora of Earth-bound citizens.
“My father,” she admitted, looking down, not meeting his gaze. “He works for Amalgamated in North America. I think he called in some favours and pulled some strings to get me this position. He said he didn’t want me on Earth, said that no matter what I thought I wanted, I’d find a better life either in space or at one of the colonies. He suggested Liberty if I found I needed a sky above me.”
Carson nodded, not that she could see, looking down at the deck like that. “I take it he’s not some junior clerk.”
“No,” she mumbled, “he has pull.”
Carson had met others like her, whose parents had jumped them past the lines. He hadn’t expected it of Fulton, though. She lacked the sense of entitlement most of those others had. Despite her infatuation with him, which he found a little distressing, he had noted that she worked hard.
“Then your father is a wise man,” he said, attempting to remove some of the stigma she felt. “He gave you good advice. And, as you took that advice, that makes you pretty smart, too.”
She looked up, and he could see the gratitude in her eyes. “I didn’t want to.”
“But, no matter how it played out, in the end you did. You could have avoided it. And you do your job, so don’t go telling me that you don’t deserve your position. You couldn’t have kept it without doing a good work. No matter how much pull your father has, they would have put you on a station as a waitress if they felt that you endangered the ship’s reputation or safety in any way.” He signed off on the CO2 scrubbers before looking up again.
Her eyes had sharpened, and he gave a silent groan. He had just admitted that he had taken notice of her, something he’d carefully avoided doing in the year since she’d come on board. He quickly sped on, hoping that she might forget, though he foresaw little chance of that.
“About the time I started my specific training as a pilot on board an actual ship, Jaswinder Saroya – damn and blast her – hooked up with the Yrden Family traders. You do know about the Yrdens, don’t you?”
Fulton rolled her eyes. He could read it in her expression: everyone knew the Yrdens, the head of the Family Trading League, and the people you went to if you had to get something, or someone, somewhere fast.
“Yeah, you know them, all right. Everyone does. Well, at that time, Amalgamated reigned as the powerhouse of the TPC shipping companies, and that meant that whatever Amalgamated said went. Nobody, and especially not fleas like the Family Traders, crossed us.”
“Really?” Fulton sounded as if she didn’t believe him.
“You haven’t looked much at the history of Amalgamated, have you? Let’s shift seats, I need to go over the piloting controls.”
They exchanged seats, and she brushed a breast against his arm in passing. No doubt, she had done it deliberately, he thought, again kicking himself for his lapse. He would have to make sure she left before he opened his bottle. He didn’t mind losing full control of his faculties and decision-making ability when alone, but he dared not allow that with her here – not when he had someone like Lil waiting for him.
“Step 1?”
“Engage Thruster Control test circuit.”
They quickly sped through the thruster controls, with Carson continuing his story in-between steps.
“Yeah, you couldn’t cross Amalgamated, and the Families toed the line. But then Yrden’s ship, Venture – they only had the one at that time – started making unheard-of fast trips. Everyone thought – and we thought that because that’s what the Yrdens wanted us to think – that they had gone back to exploring, and had discovered some new hyperspace routes that no one else had.” He checked off all the control surfaces as within specs. “And maybe they did. Who knows for sure? You do know what hyperspace is, and how hyperspace routes work, don’t you?”
“A non-linear representation of real space,” she replied. “It’s analogous to an ocean – some say with currents. So, travelling with a current will get you from point A to point B more rapidly than if travelling against a current. Or, as the text says, the shortest distance – time-wise – between two points may not be a straight line, but a series of different courses.”
So, she had
told him the truth. She did want to become a pilot, and had started her studies. He’d have to see about getting one of the other pilots to mentor her. Perhaps, Jean Gordon. Yeah, Jean would do the job, and at the same time that would relax the pressure on him. With her off-hours spent studying, or working under Jean, Fulton would have little time to press her romantic interests on him. He glanced at the chronometer.
“We’re almost at the drop.”
“Could we see it?”
That meant raising the shields, which meant asking permission. He remembered the first time he’d seen drop from the bridge. The memory remained bright and shiny. He sighed.
“I’ll seal the hatch.” He got up and left her. Good-looking kid, he thought. Not as dark as their Zulu passengers, just a rich milk-chocolate brown. If not for their age difference – and Lil – he might even consider it. But he wanted someone with life experience, someone who knew what they wanted, and why. Lil fit that bill, and she wanted him. That made all the difference, and Wen wouldn’t risk that for anything.
When he returned from sealing the lifeboat’s hatch, he saw that Fulton had arranged herself as seductively as the seating allowed. Kids. He affected to not notice. Instead, he took his seat and reached for the comm control.
“Bridge, Lifeboat-3.”
Sullivan, the bastard, answered. “Lifeboat-3, Bridge.”
“Captain, boat is sealed as per standing orders. First Pilot Carson aboard, continuing with PMIs. Attendant Fulton aboard doing cabin inventory and restock. Boat ready for drop. Give us a 30 second warning so we can strap in.”
“Thank you, Wen. Will do.”
Carson looked at Fulton, and closed his eyes.
“Bridge, permission to raise the shield? Attendant would appreciate seeing the drop.” He made the request with as emotionless a voice as he could.
“Lifeboat-3, permission granted. Enjoy the show. Bridge out.”
“Lifeboat-3 out.” He flicked off the comm in irritation. He’d heard the chuckle in the captain’s voice. All the pilots – hell, everyone including Captain Sullivan – knew of Fulton’s amorous inclinations, and how he strove to avoid them. He could just picture them all on the bridge, having a good laugh at his expense.