Admiral's Challenge (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 8)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Details,” Spalding said blithely and then stood up and looked down on her pityingly, “why, one of the first things I learned on this job is that giving your pipes and valves a little love tap betimes is all it takes to get her working again. I can’t believe you’ve never run across the practice in all your years running a work crew.”

  Baldwin’s face turned red. “Of course I know about tapping pipes—everyone knows about it,” she swore, “but that’s not why you were doing it!”

  The old Engineer looked at her piteously. “That’s why you’ll always be runnin’ a yard instead of a warship,” he said, feeling genuinely sad for her. “Sometimes you just have to trust your instincts—and mine told me to hit that pipe and see if she’d loosen up; low and behold, there she did! Sometimes you’ve just got to go with your gut.”

  “You old blowhard; I’ve worked ships before!” she glared at him. “I’m not in this yard because I can’t run a ship’s Engineering department, but because I’m the best woman for this job. Why, I could put out my resume and be out of this yard in nothing flat!”

  “Sure, of course, it’s just as you say,” Spalding soothed. After all, there was no point in getting the girl all riled up about her perceived inadequacies. Clearly he’d touched a nerve; though he would allow that, with her technical knowledge, she could probably handle the average merchant ship—maybe even a midsized warship, if she had all the trimmings in hand to begin with.

  However, she was just going to have to learn the feel of a ship before she could make it to the big leagues in the warship Chief Engineering business. But none of that really mattered, as it was clear she made a more than simply adequate Yard Construction Manager. So he wisely kept his mouth shut on how she could work to improve herself.

  Some people, he knew, just found their niche and didn’t want to leave. For him, it was keeping battleships up and running. If her heart was more into building those same battleships, well…who was he to complain? A completely complementary relationship, it was. Now, if only his last relationship with a woman had been half as compatible, maybe a lot of things would have turned out better…

  “Galaxy would sure be a pretty boring place if we were all the same, now, wouldn’t it?” he decided aloud and firmly nodded.

  “Are you still on that?” the yard manager asked dangerously.

  “No-no-no, not at all, lass,” he said hastily. Clearly, not being a warship engineer born and breed was rubbing the girl the wrong way. He didn’t want to get on her bad side over something neither of them could change a thing about. No, he would just let her build them—with an appropriate level of oversight—and then after he got his hands on them…well…he supposed he could put up with a little elbow-jogging, himself. Even though, as usual, he was right in the final tally. Still, it seemed a fair price to pay to make sure his Clover…er, all the new battleships were built and joining the fleet as fast as possible. Sure it did.

  “Why do I have the feeling I shouldn’t believe you?” Baldwin asked.

  “Probably it’s the same feeling that told you I couldn’t get this generator up and running,” Spalding said dismissively. “You should probably just ignore it,” he advised.

  “Infuriating man,” the Construction Manager said stalking away.

  “Women sure are hard to understand sometimes, aren’t they, Hatterson,” he said, looking over at the other engineer.

  But the flat look she gave him soon had him turning back to monitoring the generator one last time. Shaking his head he stood up.

  “Alright, you slackers, enough standing around on the job site,” he barked, turning to the rest of the crew. “We’ve officially got Fusion One back in business, and—”

  He was interrupted by a cheer that started on one side of the room and swept all the way to the other, and then came back again.

  “Quiet down…quiet down!” he bellowed several times before finally regaining control of the deck.

  After it was relatively silent once again, he snorted and shook his head balefully, giving them the hairy eyeball. But while he knew the glaring needed to be done, on the inside he was half of the way with them. They had done a decent enough job—so far.

  “Alright, enough horsin’ around; now that Fusion One is up, it’s time to light the fire and reignite Fusion Five!”

  “We’ll get it done for you, Chief,” Parkiney said firmly.

  “You’d better,” Spalding warned, and was then surprised when Parkiney’s work crew laughed.

  Scowling, but unwilling to break the good mood entirely, he stomped over to Fusion Five. There was still more work to be done this day, and he aimed to get it done.

  ****************************************************

  Finally, everything was ready for Fusion Five, and the old engineer was just putting the finishing touches on and making sure that everything was ready to rumble as soon as he gave the go signal when he was approached by Petty Officer Parkiney.

  “What is it, PO?” he grumped at the interruption.

  “I was talking with Bostwell, Chief, and…” he paused.

  “Just spit it out, man; can’t you see I’m in the middle of a fusion startup?” Spalding glared.

  “There was some kind of trouble over in Lancer country…and it involved the Admiral,” Parkiney said in a low tone.

  “Then I’m sure he’ll settle it fast enough,” Spalding grunted, gesturing for the first part of the startup cycle to begin.

  Crew and their chiefs jumped and threw manual switches while turning off computer lockouts.

  “That’s just it. I’m not sure, but it sounds like some of them are trying to kill him, Commander,” Parkiney declared.

  Spalding looked at him sharply. “They’re trying to kill the Little Admiral over there?” he said, standing up and grabbing his tool belt.

  “Some kind of challenge thing; they said it’s a cultural tradition,” Parkiney explained. “They said he’s killed a few of them so far. They’re in battle-suits, but the word is the Admiral’s got a big bugger of a suit no one’s seen before.”

  “Blast them—blast those men and everyone in their department,” Spalding snarled, “did you talk with Gants?”

  “Yes, Chief, that’s where we got the download,” Parkiney nodded.

  “And Gants isn’t crying for help, ‘cause if he is then we’ll flush this core out into space and go settle their hash ourselves. You don’t make trouble for the Engineering department in a Yard System unless you’re fools—or idiots what don’t know better,” he said grimly.

  “No, sir, he said they’re a bunch of mutineers…but the Admiral says he’s got it under control, and his Armory team is on-site and ready for trouble,” Parkiney said after a moment’s hesitation.

  Spalding growled. “Why, I’ve half a mind to go over there anyways and hang the consequences. They wait until I’m out on a job—and in the middle of a fusion generator rebuild-and-startup—before they dare to make trouble,” he said furiously. “Why, if my hands weren’t tied up here at this exact moment—and I wasn’t certain the Admiral could handle it himself—I’d go help toss them out of the airlock myself. The gall!”

  “Just give the word, Commander,” Parkiney said, “we’ve got close to ten thousand engineers and trainees in Gambit System.”

  “It’s not just a simple matter of numbers boy; you just don’t go head-to-head with a Lancer division if you can help it. That’s fool game,” he stood there, stewing for a long moment before finally exploding like a tea pot finally boiling over, “’traditions,’ they say? ‘Ha,’ says I! Why, I think it’s about time we introduced those oversized sides of beef to a few traditions of our own,” Spalding growled. Then, remembering what he’d been talking about, added, “No, Parkiney; you don’t bring a plasma torch to a blaster fight. You weld their doors shut, turn off the grav-plates, and punch a hole straight from the outer hull right into their quarters and let ’em suck vacuum until their canned air runs out!”

  The old engin
eer paused reflectively for a moment but, every second he waited, the fusion generator started to spin up more and more.

  “Hang it all,” he bellowed, throwing his hands in the air, “we’ll find out the whole story later and then settle them right and proper-like—but only after we’ve got this generator under control, and another battleship-sized warship in the lineup. In the meantime,” he gave Parkiney a hot glare, “you have Bostwell get Lesner, Merk, and Bourgon on the com and have him tell them I want a face-to-face as soon as I’ve got this fusion generator under control. I don’t know why we haven’t done it, but there hasn’t been a full meeting of the Ship Recycling Sub-Committee in far too long a time—too long! And you make sure they understand that when I say I want the committee, I want all the committee members. Every single department head on the lower decks—except the Lancers—are to be there, or I’ll find out why they shirked.”

  “On it, Chief,” he nodded and turned away.

  Spalding turned back to dealing with his fusion generator. The sooner he was done with this, the sooner he could start the process of ‘reminding’ those mutineers in the Lancer department exactly why no one in this Fleet made a move unless it had the blessing of a majority of the recycling sub-committee.

  Heads were going to roll, that was for sure, and he cracked his knuckles in eager anticipation.

  “All right; let’s let her rip!” the Chief Engineer shouted, reaching up to the touch-screen and tabbing the virtual levers into full startup sequence.

  “And make sure you’re standing by with that monkey, Hatterson,” Spalding bellowed.

  “On it, Chief,” she replied crisply, “the remote repair-bot is positioned in the chute, and I’ve got the suit right out here with me.”

  A glance to the side confirmed that at least the emergency repair suit was in position, so with a grunt he turned back to the screen.

  However, right off he could see that not only was the heat now above what it should be, the radiation was well above expected levels and climbing.

  The readings gave him pause, but only for a moment. They needed that generator. A ship this size could run basic operations on only two power plants, but not with just one.

  He fumbled around on the console for a moment. “Hatterson!” he shouted, “where’s the interface for the monkey?” he demanded.

  “In C-03 sub-folder, just like the last time,” she replied irritably.

  “Don’t you give me any lip, young lady—it’s not here,” he growled, opening the C-03 sub-folder but there was nothing. Then he saw the inactive icon in the folder and punched it before Hatterson could get over to look at his screen.

  Seconds later, the robot suit booted up.

  “See? It’s right where I said,” Hatterson said arriving at his side.

  “Next time, when I say ‘have her ready,’ you make sure the robot is booted up!” Spalding barked.

  Her face closed. “Sorry, Chief,” she replied.

  He irritably waved her away. “I’ve got it now. Go back and tend to the emergency suit,” he instructed.

  As soon as the rating left, Glenda stormed over.

  “What can I do you for, Yard Manager?” he grunted as he continued working the remote controls.

  “What’s this I hear about you using the repair bot again already,” she growled.

  “Got a wee bit of a problem here;’ just hold onto your knickers for a bit,” he instructed, his tongue sticking sideways between his teeth as he deftly maneuvering the monkey-bot through the last door inside the power plant and into the core.

  He had to swing the auto-bot around twice before he spotted the problem, and when he did spot it he sucked in a breath.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Glenda demanded. “I’d say this job is ready to be scrubbed,” she lifted her voice, “prepare to eject the core!”

  “I can still fix it,” Spalding said with grim certainty, “there’s no call to scrub the mission.”

  “No, you CAN’T,” she snapped, “no one could. We can build a new fusion reactor if your heart is set on bringing this hulk back into service, but it’s time to pull out.”

  “No man tells Terrance P. Spalding what he can and cannot do in his own engine room,” Spalding growled, standing up.

  “Well then it’s a good thing I’m not a man,” the Construction Manager said, stepping in front of him and getting in his way, “because you can’t do this. Going in there is suicide. Shut it down and see if you can repair it later after the core’s cooled down.”

  “If we scram it, the metal will continue to expand for a while and then it’ll contract, shattering the inner bulkhead and spilling radiation into Main Engineering which will contaminate the entire ship! No, it has to be done now or not at all,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders and gently but forcibly moving her out of his way, “and as for me, I say we do this now.”

  “I took you to Medical to save your life,” Baldwin shouted grabbing his arm, “not so you could go and throw it away again as soon as you were released.”

  “Hatterson, where is that can of Stack-22 barrier sealant?” he barked, stomping over to the emergency repair suit he’d had rebuilt just for this exact scenario. “And bring the monkey back out of the core while you’re at it; no need to burn out its control interface just sitting there doing nothing,” he ordered.

  “The new Imperial sealant you cooked up is right next to the repair suit, just like it was the half dozen other times you asked,” replied Hatterson.

  “I’m giving you a direct order: you are to stay out of that core; do you hear me, Spalding!” Glenda said, fiercely tugging on his arm.

  “I heard you the first time,” he pulled himself free and continued for the suit, “don’t know why you keep repeatin’ yourself, as if by saying it more and louder it will somehow change what needs to happen,” he said bluntly.

  “You may have heard but you didn’t listen,” Glenda ground out, “you have to understand—”

  “Oh, I understand all right, and that is when a man says he understands then he blasted-well understands what you’re saying,” he grumped and then, stopping in front of the suit, he drew himself up and turned to glare at her, “but I want to make one thing clear: there’s only one Chief Engineer aboard a star ship, and,” he thumped his thumb into his chest, “that Engineer is me!”

  “You’re on a decommissioned hulk, sitting outside a space dock; this is a Yard Ship and, as such, you’ll listen to me,” Baldwin snarled, getting up in his face.

  “Bah,” he said and turned to the rest of the crew, “and this is an order for the lot of you: if anyone tries to eject that core while I head in here, he’ll be takin’ an extended class in ‘swimming out the airlock’ in his skivvies!”

  Ignoring the Yard Manager’s disapproving glare, he turned to look at Hatterson.

  “This is a two person job: one on the inside, and the other on the outside. It’s the only way to seal that crack before it breaks the inner barrier around the core, so get on the controls of that monkey and wait for my orders,” he instructed and then hopped into the suit—before any more complainers, worrywarts, or never-nellys could delay him past the point that going in there would do any good at all.

  “Yes sir,” replied Hatterson.

  “No!” Glenda shouted as he opened the outer door. Then he stepped in and right before the door closed she yelled, “I’ll have you up on charges for reckless endangerment!”

  Snorting at the very notion of the idea he hurried through the outer series of blast doors until finally he stood outside the entrance to the core itself, that radiation death trap that wanted nothing more than to attract hard working engineers into its depths like moths to a flame.

  “Ready for some more hard work, monkey?” he asked jostling the ape looking bot with his elbow.

  “Did you do something, Commander?” Hatterson’s static-filled voice asked over the com-channel. “The bot’s visual pickup jostled momentarily and I register you in the chamb
er with it.”

  “I’m hot and ready to trot,” Spalding replied, pulling out the can of emergency barrier sealant. The Imperial version really was, in so many ways, superior to the stuff you could get your hands on in Confederation space. He grudgingly accepted this fact as he poured a large helping of the sealant into the internal reservoir of the monkey—which had been designed for just this very purpose. He would have filled the robot creature up earlier, except that the sealant used a special chemical to keep it liquid, and that particular substance rapidly degraded once taken out of its hermetically-sealed container—and the last thing he needed was a droid whose barrier sealant had turned to solid metal while still inside it. Even transferring it from the special container it was in, over to the auto-monkey’s reservoir, risked exposing the radiation resistant sealant enough to begin chain reaction that would start the solidification process.

  Fortunately for both him and the monkey, if everything went according to plan—with him working on one side of the crack and the robot on the other—they would have this mini-breach fixed up in a jiff.

  “For the record, I’d just like to add my voice to the others requesting you abort going into the fusion reactor, Commander Spalding,” Hatterson said passionately.

  “I need you focused, Hatterson, not lending your attention to the naysayers,” Spalding grumped belligerently. “Can I count on you for that, or do I need to send for your replacement? And hurry, lass, ‘cause the inner barrier here doesn’t have much time. It’s already leaking rads like a fire-hydrant.”

  “You can count on me, Chief Engineer,” Hatterson said her voice turning firm.

  “Then let’s do this!” Spalding said excitedly. Very little could get him fired up like a life-or-death repair job, and this was most certainly that.

  “Just give the word, sir,” Hatterson said quietly.

  “Alright then, Hatterson, this is what we engineers get paid the big credits for…” Spalding growled, leveling the nozzle of his sealant applicator at the blast door, “send in the monkey.”