Junkyard Heroes

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Noa pressed her lips together.

  “I think, Captain,” Magorian said, his tone light, “that you have just experienced the legendary spirit of mechanical engineers.”

  Owens raised her brow.

  Magorian smiled. “While the ship theorizes, they get things done.”

  Captain Owens nodded. “Apparently, without regard for the risks, either.”

  “Mechanics are accustomed to high risk,” Paderau Zingle said. “It is part of their everyday work.”

  “I appreciate that quality,” Owens said. “First, however, we must overcome the challenges right in front of us and that includes building pressure suits. Cai, you said two things that have changed, yet you only spoke of tired metal.”

  “Fatigued metal, yes,” Cai said. “The other factor is confirmed, because it falls into the navigation AI’s realm of expertise and all the sensor data it receives.” He looked down at the board quickly. “There is a lot of physics involved in a full explanation, so I’ll make it simple. The fact is, we’re passing through an area of space that is chock full of crud. More than usual, far more than any of the original voyage designers could have anticipated. It is an anomaly, caused by the close juxtaposition of local gravity wells.”

  Bannister leaned forward. “This is something I can speak of with a degree of knowledge,” he said. “Cai asked me if it was possible.” He held up his fist. “Think of my hand as a nearby star. A big one.” He circled a finger around the fist. “A big enough star has a very big gravity well. It is what binds a solar system together. That influence radiates out into space, becoming slowly weaker, until it has little influence left, except to adjust spatial tides.” He held up his other hand, forming another fist. “A second spatial body—a moon, a black hole, another star or even binaries—something with a gravity well of its own, could also be reaching out and affecting spatial tides. If they’re close enough together, then a non-system object that found its way into the space between them would be held there by the competing forces.”

  “Like filings between a pair of magnets?” Captain Owens asked.

  “Actually, there are more than two magnets out there,” Cai said. “We’re passing through a region that has a massive black hole far away, a red dwarf much closer by and a binary system at intermediate distance. All three forces have built a pocket in space where debris and lose asteroids, rubble and junk all drift, held there by the equalization of the forces.”

  Bannister nodded. “It’s a troubling fact,” he said. “With the hull weakened as it is and so much more debris out there, the chances that the Endurance will be holed again are very high.”

  Captain Owens looked thoughtful. “Is there a way to navigate around this junkyard?”

  “We’re a year into the region,” Cai said. “It would take another year to change direction.”

  “Changing direction would mean a radical departure from our route,” Bannister said.

  “Is the navigation AI not capable of replotting?” Magorian asked.

  Bannister and Cai exchanged glances. Bannister shook his head. “That’s actually not the issue,” he said, sounding apologetic. “The AI could replot a course. Any decently complex computer could do it, given the right information. It’s not changing course that is the problem. It’s changing direction.”

  Both Magorian and the captain were looking at him with equally puzzled expressions.

  “It’s the ship itself,” Noa said. “Changing direction would add stresses and it is already weakened.”

  Captain Owens sat back, her expression unhappy. “You mean, the ship might break up if we turn a sharp corner?”

  Bannister pressed his lips together for a moment. “Until we can do a metallurgic analysis of the hull, I wouldn’t like to risk it,” he admitted.

  Owens and Magorian exchanged glances.

  “That makes a difference,” Magorian said.

  “How long will we be in this region?” Owens asked Bannister.

  Bannister looked at Cai.

  “According to the AI,” Cai said, “about seven years. Plus, it’s only going to get worse, until we reach the center of it.”

  “There’s something else you might want to consider, too,” Bannister said. “The original route to Destination was chosen because it was the most direct and shortest route possible.”

  Magorian sighed. “How much time will be added to the journey if we change direction?”

  Bannister grimaced. “It could be as much as two hundred and fifty years. Certainly no fewer than a hundred. Not that any of us will be around then to care.”

  “I think you will find that nearly everyone on the Endurance would care a great deal, despite knowing they will not live to see Destination,” Captain Owens said. Her voice was mellow, yet there was an electrifying quality to it that made the hair on the back of Noa’s neck prickle sharply. “We have all grown up with the knowledge that one day the Endurance would finish its journey. Extending that journey by three or more generations would disrupt that faith. People would begin to question our purpose and that is never a good thing.”

  “Philosophical debates aside,” Magorian said. “We cannot consider turning the ship until we know much more about the risks and the costs of doing so. That means that for now, we must protect ourselves as much as we can while we traverse this…junkyard. Captain?”

  Captain Owens nodded. “You must push ahead on developing pressure suits, as swiftly as possible, if only so we can collect samples of the hull to analyze. That will be your priority…it will be the whole ship’s priority. The successful completion of the Endurance’s journey depends upon completing this work.”

  * * * * *

  Haydn caught up with Noa as she returned to the conference room that had become their work space. “You did well in there.”

  “Glad to have your approval,” Noa told him. “Congratulations, by the way.”

  He just looked at her.

  “I think that’s the first time you’ve opened your mouth in one of those status meetings and in front of the Captain, too.”

  His mouth twitched at the corners and Noa noticed yet again how much healthier he looked. The color of his face was even, the almost hollow cheeks had filled out a little, although he was always going to have high cheek bones and a square jaw. His eyes weren’t always shuttered anymore.

  “They were starting to chest thump about their woes,” he said and shrugged.

  Noa moved around the end of the table she used for most of her work. “Because you’ve never been in a negative tailspin in your life,” she shot back.

  His gaze met hers. “Yeah, I’ve been there,” he said softly. “That’s why I recognized it.”

  She couldn’t pull her gaze away from him, even though she knew she should. Small cold fingers rippled up her spine and made her nerves tingle. Her breath came faster.

  He was a tall man. She had always known that. Now she reflected on his height and the width of his shoulders under the simple jacket as if she was noticing them for the first time.

  His hair was still longer than it needed to be, but it was clean and gleamed under the overhead lights. The bruises and cuts that had marred his face had all gone, leaving the clean line of his jaw, which drew attention to his mouth, that was still lifted in amusement.

  The weird—no, the insane—thought occurred to her. What would it be like to kiss him?

  Then she realized what she was thinking. This was Haydn Forney, the homeless, anti-social, angry son of the ship’s most notorious Caver.

  Except he really wasn’t any of those things, anymore. He wasn’t homeless and he wasn’t really angry, either. He was still far too closed off with people he didn’t know, although that didn’t happen when he was around her friends. He sat at their tables most nights, adding an occasional sarcastic comment and mostly listening, his gaze moving to whoever was speaking. Despite Peter’s reserve and Ségolène’s open distrust of him, Haydn was a part of the group.

  Was that wh
y she was considering what it would be like to kiss him?

  The moment passed. Haydn lifted his hand toward the other side of the room, where he was working with Bannister and Cai. “Well…”

  She nodded. “I have suits to design.”

  He turned away and relief trickled through her. He hadn’t noticed her distraction. Good. It had only been a momentary thing, anyway. It was a ridiculous notion, something only someone as desperate and bereft of male attention as her would latch onto.

  Except that for the rest of the day, she couldn’t get the idea of his lips against hers out of her mind. Every time she saw him, she saw details she had failed to notice until now. The strength in his wrists. The length of his legs. The shape of his ass. The width of his neck and how the fine olive flesh of his throat dipped down at the base.

  She went home early, determined to sleep the insanity away and wake up in the morning to her normal life.

  It didn’t work.

  Chapter Ten

  Peter pushed the glass of green tea in front of Noa. “Here. You look as though you could use it.”

  She grimaced. “Thanks.”

  “You all look as if you want to shoot yourselves. Bad day at the office?” Ségolène asked lightly. She and Peter teased them about their work, for all of them had signed contracts with the Bridge for consultant work, while Ségolène and Peter continued to work for the Institute. Neither of them were jealous because everyone was open about the work they were doing, discussing it in detail in front of them. Even though they weren’t physically present on the Bridge, Ségolène and Peter understood as much about the project as anyone who worked there.

  So Noa felt comfortable about letting the truth tumble out. “It’s the old schematics for the suits. The exterior layer…did you know they used plastic?”

  Ségolène wrinkled her nose. “Ugh.”

  Peter looked interested. “A stable plastic, though, right?”

  “Does it matter?” Noa asked. “Any plastic reeks of carcinogens and they were wearing the stuff. Body heat alone would have altered the chemical odors it gave off.”

  “What can you use instead?” Peter asked.

  Noa sighed. “That’s just it. We’re stumped. Any sort of cloth won’t do, because it isn’t air tight. We’ve considered glass extrusions and plasteel, but they’re both too rigid. You have to be able to bend your arm while you’re wearing it. Plus, we need something that will protect the wearer against micro-holes. Otherwise, whoever is in it will have to spend more than half the time they’re outside checking to make sure they’re not leaking.”

  Ségolène frowned. “Would the layer have to be radiation proof, too?” She had heard Haydn lecture about insulation against heat and cold and radiation more than once.

  “Different layers can do that,” Haydn said.

  “How many layers will the suit have?” Peter said. “You won’t be able to move!”

  Haydn shrugged. “Micro layers, if they’re designed properly. Venting to cool the wearer is easy. Anything strong enough to resist holing will probably have some natural insulation, so that helps with heating the suit.”

  “That’s a lamination process,” came another voice.

  Everyone looked around. A couple were standing just beyond their table, both holding drinks. The man gestured with his. “You’re the mob who are rebuilding the ship, right?”

  Noa resisted the urge to protest. Last month, Captain Owens had spoken to the whole ship, explaining the reason for the holing and what they were doing about it. She had made it sound very positive and pro-active. She had also made it sound as though there was a whole team in place, readying themselves to scurry over the ship, replacing the hull.

  Noa looked at the man now and held her jaw together. There was no need to disillusion him by explaining there were six of them, all scratching their heads trying to solve problems that seemed impossible. They could call in any expert they wanted, spend any money they needed. Despite unrestricted access to resources, no experts had been able to help.

  Haydn leaned back against his chair, which put him behind Cai, from the stranger’s perspective. It also let the shadow from the bushes surrounding the Midnight Garden fall on Haydn’s face. Noa wondered if he was aware of what he was doing.

  Cai cleared his throat. “We’re helping with some aspects of the work,” he told the stranger. “I know you, don’t I?”

  The man nodded, which made his bald head gleam. “Jardin. I’m a mechanic like you guys. Only I have a permanent contract with the industrial fabrication unit in the Aventine. That’s why I thought I’d ask. You were talking about micro layers for something. We work with those all the time.”

  Peter frowned. “You called it lamination?”

  The woman next to Jardin nodded. “If the layers are designed properly, they strengthen each other. They can even support another layer’s function. It can be quite complex.”

  Cai put his board down. “You had better sit down…um…?”

  “Jenny,” she said.

  The pair of them put their drinks on the tables, while everyone shuffled around. They brought over two more chairs and sat.

  “Tell me about lamination,” Peter said, leaning forward.

  “Why are you so anxious to learn about that?” Noa asked him curiously.

  He glanced at her. “I think I have an idea. It’s something Ségolène did.”

  Ségolène sat up. “What did I do?”

  Peter shook his head. “Later,” he said firmly. “Let me figure this out, first.” He looked at Jardin and Jenny. “Tell me everything,” he urged.

  * * * * *

  A week later, Noa was called down to the Bridge Gate. Howard, the shift supervisor, pointed to Peter and Ségolène, standing on the other side of the barrier. Ségolène was almost dancing with impatience.

  “Are these characters with you, Noa?” Howard asked.

  “I know they look odd,” Noa said, “but they’re quite harmless.”

  “That’s what we thought about you, too,” Howard said darkly. Then he grinned. “I can give them a temporary pass. Two hours and limited access. They have to be with you at all times. At the end of the two hours, you’ll need to get Magorian to clear them.”

  Noa nodded. “Thanks, Howard.”

  He waved to the guard at the front of the gate and held up two fingers. The guard nodded and asked Peter and Ségolène to hold out their wrists. He passed the scanner over them and stepped back and raised the gate.

  Peter and Ségolène hurried through.

  “Where have you two been?” Noa asked, trying to keep her voice down. “It’s been four days. You haven’t been at the Midnight Garden and Cai says you’ve both skipped shifts. You look like hell, too.”

  Ségolène glared at her.

  “Not you, of course,” Noa said. “You always look gorgeous. I meant Peter. Stubble and bleary eyes…did you sleep at all last night?”

  “Not for a couple of nights,” Ségolène said. “I think,” she added. “I haven’t slept much, either.”

  Peter held up a satchel. “We’ve got something to show you.”

  “Not here,” Noa said, aware of the guards watching them with amusement. “Come into the workshop. You can show us there.”

  “Everyone?” Ségolène said, her voice rising high.

  Noa almost laughed. “They’re all harmless, too. Come on.”

  * * * * *

  Cai pulled his chair around the table for Ségolène to use, while Peter fussed with the latches on the satchel and everyone gathered around curiously.

  Anselm Bannister crossed his arms. “More mechanics?” he asked in a resigned voice. He looked at Noa. “Just how many friends do you have?”

  Haydn laughed. “At least she has friends, Bannister. You should be grateful. Your professional colleagues have all let us down.”

  Bannister didn’t rile up the way he might have in the first few weeks of working with them. He just looked thoughtful. “Let’s see what your
friends have before we shoot my colleagues for failure to live up to expectations, hmm?”

  Peter pulled out a piece of soft white fabric, the size of a wash cloth. He held it up and wriggled it. It shimmered prettily.

  “What do you think?” Peter asked.

  “It’s a handkerchief?” Cai asked.

  Ségolène rolled her eyes. “Feel it,” she said and took the fabric from Peter’s hand and held it out toward Cai.

  He took it and worked it through his fingers, his eyes growing larger. “So soft! It feels cool…only it’s not. Not really. It’s very strange.”

  Haydn shot his hand out.

  “Hey, rank has privileges!” Anselm Bannister protested, holding out his own.

  Cai gave Bannister the material.

  He turned it over and over in his hands, peering at it and rubbing it between finger and thumb. He looked up at Peter. “Micro layers?”

  Peter nodded.

  Bannister lifted the cloth to his face, put it over his mouth and blew. It billowed out.

  Bannister held it up again. “Air tight…” he murmured.

  Noa’s heart squeezed. “Peter! The lamination thing…did you…?”

  Peter grinned. “Ségolène and I did it.”

  Ségolène smiled sunnily. “It does just about everything on Haydn’s stupid list. It’s air tight, it’s flexible, it’s semi-insulating and it is self-healing.”

  Hayden dropped his arms to his sides. “Self-healing?”

  Peter laughed. “We tried ramming an awl through it. It took a sledge hammer to get it through the first layer, but the second layer took care of the hole.”

  Bannister pulled over one of the chairs that rotated around the room as people needed them, for sitting, for standing, for resting things on. He put the back against the table that Peter and Ségolène were at and straddled it. “Details, please.”

  Peter looked at him, startled.

  “Anselm is one of the harmless ones,” Noa told him.

  Bannister glared at her, then turned back to Peter and Ségolène. “I’m waiting with bated breath,” he told them.