“Exactly.”
“Confidence on next jump?”
“Same as always, Skipper. Plus or minus ten percent, but the safe zone is larger and it’s a shorter jump.”
“Chief?” I said.
“Go.”
“Al?”
“Go.”
“You heard them, Mr. Reed.”
Tom’s fingers flexed just as a loud bang shook the hull.
I sat there stunned for a moment. “Report,” I said.
“Capacitors empty. We’ve lost communication with number four drive emitter.”
“We jumped,” Al said.
“Position, Mr. Reed?” I asked.
His fingers blurred in the dim light of the bridge. “Working, Captain. Jump complete. Logged at 2375, November 10 at 0854.”
“Chief, secure the Burlesons,” I said.
“Secured, Captain. Diagnostics suggest the damage is outside. Damage control suiting up.”
“Hold them at the lock,” I said.
“Holding at the lock, aye, Captain.”
“We’re in the pocket, Captain,” Reed said without looking up. “Course has been skewed and will require a burn to bring us back on track. Calculating.”
“Chief?”
“New diagnostics. The damage is definitely on the outside. The emitter unit is completely unresponsive.”
“Hold on burn, Mr. Reed.”
“Still calculating, Captain, but holding on burn.”
“Let them out, Chief.”
“Lock cycling now.”
“Who’s out there?” I asked.
“Murakowsky and Wicklund from propulsion. I’ve got Bell and Wallace from power suiting up now in case they need backup.”
“Al, give me ship-wide,” I said.
She tapped a few keys and nodded.
“All hands, this is the captain speaking,” I said. “We’re investigating that alarming loud bang. At the moment it appears to be a malfunction with the Burleson drive emitter on the ventral bow. When Murakowsky and Wicklund get there, we’ll know more and I’ll keep you informed. Remain at navigation stations for the moment. That is all.” I looked at Al who clicked the key.
“Channel secured, Captain.”
“How long to charge, Chief?”
“Six stans for a full jump. Eighteen to top off the capacitors, Captain.”
“Any reason to stay at navigation stations?” I asked.
“None from me,” she said. “We’re going to be charging up here for at least a watch cycle. Realistically, more like three.”
“Al?”
“We’re in for a while,” she said.
“Who’s got the watch?”
“Third section,” she said.
I looked at the chrono. It was barely mid-morning. My coffee hadn’t had time to get cold but I felt like we’d been at it for days. “Secure from navigation stations,” I said. “Set normal watch throughout the ship.”
Al made the announcement and people started shuffling up the ladder.
“Don’t stand on ceremony,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Crew made some adjustments, but as I expected. Only Torkelson left the bridge when Ms. Fortuner and Mr. Jensen came up. Al settled at a spare console and fired it up while the chief worked her magic on the engineering displays.
I held my coffee mug in both hands and settled back in the captain’s chair. My only job for the next little while would be radiating patience and calm. I did my best to channel Frederica deGrut and sipped my coffee as if we were just waiting for a tug to pull us out.
Chapter 40
Deep Dark: 2375, November 10
The chief and I met Murakowsky and Wicklund when they came back through the lock. Murakowsky held up the fragged emitter. It resembled nothing more than a blackened chunk of wax about as big as my head that some fist had pummeled into submission.
“What happened?” I asked when they’d pulled off their helmets.
Murakowsky turned the unit and I saw a glossy fragment of rock embedded in the side of the unit. “This shouldn’t be there, sar,” she said.
The chief made a twirling motion with her finger and Murakowsky spun the unit around.
“That’s the back,” the chief said.
“Yes, sar.”
The chief frowned but her head nodded a couple of times. “Stow that in my office, if you would, and get out of those suits for a bit,” she said. “We’ve got a couple of replacement emitters. You know how to mount them?”
Murakowsky nodded. “Yes, sar. Did a hands-on exam for my spec one in fields.”
Wicklund shook her head. “I’ve never done it, sar. I’m only spec three.”
“After lunch, we’ll remedy that,” the chief said. “Sheryl? Run her through the parts list she’ll need and have her pull the parts and tools. We’ll get something to eat, let our nerves settle a bit, and this afternoon we’ll go out for a stroll.”
“Aye, sar,” Murakowsky said.
Wicklund didn’t say anything but her eyes got very round and I thought she might have paled a bit.
“Oh, and alert Mr. Verde that he’ll be running the shipboard alignment diagnostics,” the chief said. “May as well get as much out of this as we can.”
“Aye, sar,” Murakowsky said.
The chief nodded to the passageway. “Go. Get out of the suits and get them recharging.”
The two clomped away while the chief stood there frowning at the deck.
“Problem?” I asked.
She shook her head and looked up at me. “Nothing we can’t handle. We’ve got the parts and tools we need to swap out the emitter. Generally you do that while docked but the process doesn’t require shore-tie. It’ll be a good learning experience. Alignment and tuning will be tedious, but we’re not going anywhere until the capacitors charge anyway.”
“What’s the problem?”
“It hit us from behind.”
The geometry of it made my brain stutter. “It didn’t go through and get lodged in the back?”
“No. The malformation of the unit argues against that. I suspect Tom would tell us that our course deflection is consistent with a blow from the stern and upwards through the bow.” She shook her head. “We were lucky it hit the emitter. If it had hit the skin of the ship, we’d be looking at hull integrity breach or worse. I can replace the emitter, but if this had scored along four or five frames on its way into the ship, that would have been messy.”
I stood there for more than a few heartbeats, listening to the ship around me.
“You all right, Captain?” the chief asked.
“Yeah. Actually, I am. We—almost literally—dodged a bullet.”
She snorted. “Except we apparently didn’t dodge far enough and that was going a lot faster than a bullet when it hit us.”
“Yes, it was. If it had blown through the emitter, or ripped it out of the hull, that would have complicated things greatly.”
She looked startled at that. “Yeah. Having to replace the mounting would have taxed our abilities.”
“Then I’m going to count my blessings. She’s a stout ship who’s seen rough use. We probably owe her.”
The chief’s eyebrows rose. “You sure you’re all right?”
I smiled. “Yes. I’m sure, but let’s get that printer project underway as soon as we can, shall we?”
She nodded, but kept looking at me like I’d suddenly started speaking in tongues. “Good idea, Skipper.”
I smiled at her and followed Murakowsky and Wicklund back into the ship. “Trust Chernyakova” didn’t have the same easy ring to it that “Trust Lois” did, but I could live with that.
I made my way up to the bridge as fast as I could without running. It was a trick I learned from Fredi deGrut. Never let them see the captain hurrying. That was doubly true in circumstances where the captain felt the need to hurry. Perhaps I only felt that way when stuff went pear-shaped.
“Status?” I asked as I crested the lad
der.
“No problems, Skipper,” Al said.
“Mr. Reed?” I asked.
“We’ll need five stans to burn at half power if we yaw the ship around and use the kickers. A bit longer if we use thrusters.”
“Fuel consumption profile?” I asked.
“Minor blip,” he said. “We’ll want to confirm that with Chief Stevens.”
“How minor?” I asked, plunking my butt into the captain’s chair.
“It’s not any more than we’d spend getting underway from an orbital. A lot less than we’d spend getting out to the safety perimeter,” he said.
The chief made her way up the ladder and settled at the engineering console. “Ms. Murakowsky is helping Ms. Wicklund get her parts and tools together. Mr. Verde is reviewing his alignment protocols,” she said.
“How long before we can jump?” I asked.
“Emitter should be replaced by dinner mess today. Capacitors will be able to make a short jump by the time the emitter is repaired. It’ll be early morning tomorrow, just after breakfast mess, if the numbers are right.” She tapped a few keys and shifted a couple of windows. “Yeah. That was our planned schedule, too.”
“Five-stan burn to adjust course?” I asked.
“Kickers?” she asked, looking from me to Reed and back.
“Yaw and pitch control to position the kickers and then a five-stan burn at half power,” Reed said.
The chief consulted her screens and nodded, almost to herself. “Just sipping a bit. Not a problem.”
I looked around at the officers. “Any concerns?”
“None here, Captain,” Al said.
“Me, either, Skipper,” Tom said.
I looked at Ms. Fortuner. “Kim?”
“Me? No, Captain.”
“Chief?”
“I think we’re doing splendidly,” she said. “Quite exciting, isn’t it?”
I chuckled and nodded at Al. “Ship-wide, please?”
She twiddled some keys and pointed to me.
“All hands, this is the captain speaking. Some of you probably already heard we took a rock in one of the Burleson emitters. Repairs are underway and should be completed before dinner mess tonight. It won’t change our itinerary. Be prepared for navigation stations after breakfast mess tomorrow. That is all.”
I nodded at Al who clicked the keys and nodded. “Channel secured,” she said.
“How soon before you’re ready to go for your walk?” I asked the chief.
“Probably right after lunch mess,” she said. “I want to give them time to get their gear together and give myself time to check it before we go outside to mess about with the power of the universe.”
I looked around at the personnel on the bridge. “Did we set normal watch?” I asked.
“We did, Captain,” Al said.
“Well, let’s clear the bridge so the watchstanders can get on with the watch.” I looked at Tom Reed. “It won’t matter when we burn, will it?”
“Error correction will be the same. Our position will be different but not significantly so. The next jump is a long one so we’ll be dealing with larger errors on the other end anyway.”
“Can you program the burn for after they get the new emitter in and aligned?”
“No problem, Captain.”
“Chief? Any problem?” I asked.
“None, Captain.”
“Then let’s do that.” I stood and dropped down the ladder, ducking into the cabin to use the head before I started a tour around the ship.
That was another trick I’d learned from Fredi, one I’d not been practicing as well as I might. If the captain has time to stroll about the ship, things must be going well. My gut still quivered slightly when I thought about how close we’d come, even though my head told me it was just another day in the Deep Dark. My job for the rest of the day was to stroll around the various areas of the ship and show everybody how unconcerned I was.
Chapter 41
Deep Dark: 2375, November 12
We didn’t know much about the system labeled Telluride. It had a primary, a few rocky planets, and a couple of gas giants, none of which fell in the Goldilocks zone. We didn’t even have a good survey of where the belts lay. Flores kept all that information to himself, not even registering the system with the CPJCT. I wasn’t even sure we’d find a station there, but I was willing to take Ariel Felder’s word that we had a reason for dragging a can of food out here.
“Let’s see what’s there, shall we?” I said, as we settled into the routine of navigation stations again.
“Mr. Reed, the captain would like to see what’s there,” Al said.
“Ship is in position and on course. Jump coordinates locked, Ms. Ross.”
“Systems?” Al asked.
“Systems are green for go once, Ms. Ross,” Ms. Fortuner said.
“Astogation?” Al asked.
“Astrogation green for go twice, Ms Ross.”
“Chief?”
“Capacitors at sixty percent. Burlesons online and ready. Sail generators on ready stand-by. Engineering is green for go thrice, Ms. Ross.”
Al fiddled with her screens for a moment before saying, “The ship is green for go thrice, Captain. Ready to jump on your command.”
“Ready about, Mr. Reed. Hard a-lee.”
His hand twitched once as he kicked the command and the stars changed positions again. “Jump completed. Logged at 2375, November 12 at 1411. Position and vector updating.”
“System reports as Telluride, Captain,” Al said.
“We’re getting a quarantine warn-off, Captain,” Ms. Fortuner said. “Standard broadcast.”
“Any idea where it’s coming from?”
“Nothing yet, Captain,” she said. “I’m looking for the comms buoys, but we’re a few light-minutes too far out.”
“Tom?” I asked.
“Position established. We jumped right on the mark, Captain.”
“So, we’re well out and will need to do some mapping before we can get in much closer,” I said.
“We’re about three hundred light-minutes out from the primary, Captain,” Reed said. “Two hundred and a few from the inner gas giant.”
I wondered whether the ephemeris record had been blanked by the quarantine notice or if the record had never been updated after Flores filed it.
“It could take a long time to find this place,” Al said, her eyes fixed on the long-range scanner.
“I have a fix on the comms buoy,” Kim said. “We’re almost in range to flash a data dump.”
“Think there’ll be anything on it?” I asked.
She shrugged but didn’t look up. “Only one way to find out, Captain.”
We waited out the ticks until we could use a near-field microwave to hit the buoy. Under normal conditions in CPJCT space, it would have been something that happened automatically. In the Toe-Holds, almost nobody used comms buoys.
“Flashing,” Ms. Fortuner said.
It would take two ticks for the radio to cross the distance and for the response to come back.
“Negative response,” she said. “Same quarantine warning.”
“What did you use to flash?” Al asked.
“Standard query,” she said.
“Append our beacon ident and try again,” Al said.
“Beacon ident, aye.”
“You think they’re waiting for us?” I asked Al.
She shrugged. “If they knew the ship had been lost up in the High Line, they might have reprogrammed the buoy network, but I’m cynical.”
“You think they didn’t bother?” the chief asked.
“I think they forgot,” Al said with a snort. “These aren’t Toe-Holders. They’re High Liners working in the Deep Dark.”
“Data dump incoming,” Ms. Fortuner said.
Al chuckled.
“What do you have, Ms. Fortuner?” I asked.
“I don’t know yet, Skipper. It’s still coming in.”
“Anythi
ng on long range?” I asked.
Al shook her head. “Nothing yet, Captain. We could be on the wrong side of the primary for all we know.”
“How far are we from the nearest belt?” I asked.
“About twenty light-minutes, Skipper. We’re scanning it now,” Mr. Reed said. “It’ll be a bit before we get anything back.”
“Still loading, Captain,” Ms. Fortuner said. “So far it’s message traffic originating from Telluride Station. It’s got to be here somewhere.”
A bad feeling welled up. “Date headers on those messages?”
Ms. Fortuner paused for a few heartbeats before answering. “We’re getting them oldest-to-newest order, Skipper. These are all more than ten stanyers old.” She looked over from her console. “Can that be right? The Chernyakova never picked them up before?”
“I told ya,” Al said. “High Liners running a station and expecting Toe-Holders to know what’s going on.”
“Why’d they key them to the Chernyakova?” Mr. Reed asked. “That’s not CPJCT protocol.”
“It’s not,” Al said. “We’d have to dump the buoy to be sure, but I suspect they keyed it to the ships that were authorized entry to the quarantine to keep the traffic to a minimum. Is there outbound routing data, Kim?”
“All the traffic’s routed to an anonymous node. I don’t know where it might be. It’s got a BoE prefix.”
“BoE-1212?” the chief asked.
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
“Who owns it?” I asked.
“Old Board of Exploration address,” she said. “It’s a trash can.”
“So, the station routed all of the outgoing messages to a dead address?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s alive. It’ll accept the messages and mark them received. Then it deletes them.”
“Ms. Fortuner, route those inbound messages to a save buffer. Don’t let them out,” I said.
“We’re not anyplace we could send them at the moment, Skipper.”
“I know that. We may be a Toe-Holder at the moment, but the Chernyakova is set up to automatically forward comms. I don’t want to lose those messages because I forgot to close the door.”
“Routing to a save buffer now, Captain.”
“Thank you, Ms. Fortuner.”
To Fire Called (A Seeker's Tale From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 2) Page 28