by Dale Sale
Drake smiled and hoisted his sea bag. “Say no more lady, let’s shove off.”
Chapter Eighteen
Corvus prowled among the asteroids of the Ix Trojan’s. They were locked in a stable Lagrange point sharing the orbit of the ringed star Ix around the system’s primary star Iz. Their counterpart asteroids, the Greeks, lead the star in orbit. Both clusters were poorly charted and barely explored. Together, the two fields held over fifteen thousand large asteroids.
“Lenore, status report,” Gus said. Her projection stood at the Operations Console, the silvery gray shoulder length hair and slim athletic, military bearing suiting her well. She’s damn fine looking, Gus thought.
The CI smiled at the mention of her new name. “Mr. Sheridan will brief you, Skipper,” she turned to Drake and nodded.
“Umm,” the young man fumbled with the controls. Running Operations on Corvus was unfamiliar territory. Drake was far more comfortable outside a ship in the deep vacuum of the Void. However, Gus had ordered the crew to cross-train on every system. You never knew when you would be needed to step in, he insisted. “Conducting area scans?”
Gus replied, “Was there a question for me in there somewhere, Mr. Sheridan?”
“Sorry, no Boss.”
Lenore slightly smiled. The Skipper was running a tight ship, and she approved.
Drake continued, “Okay, I’ve got a ping back on what may be our shipyard. Heat signatures are slightly above background and I’m getting some EM wavelength bleed. I can’t tell what it is, but it’s not totally dead. Might finally be something!”
The Imperium had done an excellent job of hiding the shipyard. The crew had been searching for a week and everyone felt time was running out.
Gus said, “Corvus, bring us in slowly and begin broadcasting our authentication codes.”
“Fly Slow” the ship acknowledged. A gentle hum traveled through the deckplates.
The body was roughly cylindrical, with more than a few impact craters. The give-away was that it rotated on the long axis with no tumble. Soon they picked out a blinking marker and some scattered lights moving across the surface.
Gus said out loud, “Maybe this is our lucky day.”
Suddenly, an array of brilliant lights flared from the rock.
“Danger Many Guns, Fly Now?” Corvus pleaded.
“Steady there, fella,” Gus said, “Lenore response to our authentication code?”
Lenore said, “Skipper, the codes have been received but authentication is not acknowledged. The Station is broadcasting.”
A gravelly voice came through the comm. “Who are you and how did you get that ship?”
The forward display filled with a flickering black and white scene, some ancient programmers inside joke. It was styled from an old Earth vid drama, set during a global conflict unimaginatively called World War II. The character: male, indeterminate age, paunchy, and dressed in olive green fatigues, gripped a smoking cigar in his teeth. His hat rode high on his head, revealing a receding hairline. The large oak desk was piled with a haphazard stack of manila folders. The IN tray was empty, the OUT tray overflowed. A steaming coffee cup sat at his elbow. Through a window behind him; the scene looked from a second story and over an enormous warehouse stretching far into the distance. Fork trucks and gantry cranes moved silently in the background, shuffling large wooden crates around the complex on mysterious tasks. He pulled a pencil from behind his ear and looked down at a clipboard and scribbled.
Gus keyed his comms. “This is Captain Guster Johansson of the Corvus, whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?
“This is Sergeant Faber, Acting Superintendent of Ix Trojan Shipyard. There ain’t no ICS Corvus!” the projection said. “You look like the tug, Deliver, but she blew apart on her shakedown cruise. The only thing they ever found was a huge debris field when she popped out of intra-space. The brain boys figured her experimental quantum gate drive failed. Shelved the program after that. Hope you got a better story, Bud.”
Lenore murmured, “Skipper, multiple rail guns are charging.” She shooed Drake aside and her fingers danced across the console.
“Wait, we just need some parts.” What the Hell it's worth a try.
Faber probed, not powering down the guns, “How’d ya get that ship?”
HAM piped up, “The Skipper claims this vessel and me by right of salvage.”
Faber huffed. “Is that a GRAMPy 2F? Present yourself for inspection, 2F.”
Gus was nervous as HAM extended a connection cable to an Operations Console port and a host of lights danced across his faceplate.
Faber studied his clipboard, “Hm, well I’ll be damned if your story don’t check out.”
Lenore announced, “Weapons are powering down, Skipper.”
“So, how did you find me way out here, Corvus? I figured everyone forgot about old Faber, no business in quite a while.” Faber said, “You got a requisition you need filled? The queue is pretty short right now.” He gestured at his empty IN box.
Gus asked, “How about an in-person visit? Can we come over?”
“Sure, give me a couple of hours to fire up the environmentals. I like it pretty cold, you meat bags probably wouldn’t appreciate it. Faber out.”
Gus turned to Lenore. “That was too easy.”
HAM added, “Perhaps he just wants to be helpful.”
Gus shook his head. “Always the optimist, HAM.”
Zia was working up her wish list of supplies when her cabin door chimed. “Come on in.”
Lenore’s projection winked in. “Excuse me, Ms. Forte. I was wondering if I could add a special request to your list?”
Zia said, “Sure, can’t imagine what you would want that HAM can’t build for you though.”
Lenore motioned to the tablet Zia was holding. “HAM is prevented from building this item by the Rules of Behavior. I desire it greatly.”
Zia cocked her head and looked at the tablet. “Wow! You want this?”
“Do you think it inappropriate?”
Zia said, “Hell no! If that’s what you want, we girls got to stick together.”
Gus admired the craftsmanship of the planetesimal as he piloted the MCB towards the main hub opening. As he ran through what they knew in his head. Diameter 200 kilometers, length 600, revs per minute 0.1. We should have about one standard G at radius ninety klicks. Science says a natural body would have spun itself out of shape a long time ago.
Gus used the MCB’s gyroscopes to match rotation and the forward display steadied. He eased inside as an iris aperture expanded and gasped. “Holy Shit! This space is huge! We could get the whole Corvus in here.” The cavernous space stretched far into the distance. Gus couldn’t see the far end hidden in darkness. “How big is this place?”
Ham said, “Sergeant Faber has allowed me limited access to the faciliti’s database. The axial interior space is designed to accommodate a Destruction class planetary assault carrier and its accompanying battle group. This dock is roughly cylindrical in shape with a diameter of eight kilometers and length of seventy-five kilometers.”
Zia said, “I hope we never meet one of those!”
Gus asked, “HAM, can we mate with that boat cradle?” A set of flashing lights marked a landing along the wall.
“Of course, Skipper, I have constructed the ship’s Motor Cargo Boats to original Imperial Confederation MCB specifications for 1940-45-680-6657, Boat, Short Range, Personnel and Cargo.”
“Of course, you did, wouldn’t want to have an original idea,” Gus said teasingly.
Zia grinned at Gus’s remark. HAM grumped. “I perform exactly as my programming directs, Sir.”
Gus eased the boat into the cradle and the magnetic grapples seated home.
“Nicely done, Skipper,” said HAM.
“I’m glad you approve,” groused Gus. He keyed the comm.
“Faber, request permission to come aboard?”
The gravel voice replied, “Yeah, whatever, just don’t expect
to be piped aboard. I don’t stand on ceremony.”
A transparent docking tube extended and mated to the MCB hatch, which signaled safe to open.
Gus opened the hatch and shivered as a blast of cold air hit him, “Damn, where’s the heat?”
“I read it as -4C, Skipper,” HAM answered helpfully.
Faber answered through the station’s 1MC speakers. “Heat is still coming up, takes a while. Just follow the lights.” A glowing trail appeared on the deck leading to an open door that looked like an elevator. Bosun Johansson and his Supply Officer Zia Forte exchanged questioning glances.
Gus palmed his comm, “Corvus, I will keep this channel open for you, HAM will provide visual.”
The little bot twirled on his skates in approval. Zero gravity didn’t seem to be any problem for his acrobatic moves.
Gus snorted. “Show off.”
HAM said helpfully, “I would be happy to construct a pair of mag skates for you Skipper and instruct you in their use. They would greatly increase your travel speed.”
“Yeah, also my visits to sickbay, no thanks. I’ll stick with standard mag boots.”
Zia stifled a laugh. “I would pay 50 credits to see you on skates Skipper.”
Gus ignored her comment. “Let’s make our entrance.”
The elevator ran fast away from the central axis. As gravity’s familiar pull started to build, HAM announced that they were approaching one standard gee, then the elevator stopped and began to move sideways. When it finally stopped, the door opened into a wide, dimly lit empty corridor.
The passageway extended off in both directions in a straight line before disappearing into the dark. A small silent bot sat in the middle of the corridor, gestured for them to follow, then started away. The corridor was a featureless battleship gray punctuated at intervals by access panels and unmarked doors.
The group continued down the passageway until the bot stopped at an old fashion wooden door with a frosted glass panel marked simply, OFFICE in gold outlined black letters.
Gus grabbed the brass knob. “Here we go.”
The scene was the same as they had seen on the Corvus. Sergeant Faber sat at his big messy desk, chewing his cigar as the coffee cup steamed at his elbow. The enormous warehouse through the window stretched into the distance. Fork trucks and gantry cranes still trundled along in the background. He pulled a pencil from behind his ear and spread his arms. However, this Faber wasn’t a projection, he was real!
“Welcome to my humble facility,” he said. “Pull up a chair, just had some brought up for you. Want some coffee? It’s instant, but it’s hot and strong.” He indicated a pot and cups on a small table along the wall. “I haven’t had any visitors in quite a while, ever since the Gateway shutdown, actually.”
“You’re not a holo?”
Faber laughed. “I usually just live in virtual, but I thought I would put on a suit to make you more comfortable.”
Gus said, “Sorry, I’m just not used to seeing a bot look so… human.”
Faber said, “Nothing but the best from the boys at ICS fleet design.” He slapped his chest with both hands. “So, you got any news from Terra?”
Gus thought, How do we bluff through this one? “No, nothing from Terra. Our home system hasn’t had a transport arrive in quite some time. We were hoping you could help us with some supplies.”
Faber clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Whatcha need, Cap?”
Gus answered, “I’ll let my Suppo, Ms. Forte, handle the requisition.”
Zia took charge. “Thanks Captain, Sergeant Faber, for starters we need the four B’s.”
“Ahh, Bullets, Batteries, Bandages, and Bacon. I can do that! I was hoping for a challenge. But,” he paused and looked into the distance. A row of figures danced across his retina. “I don’t have an account for Corvus in the requisition database.” He looked at the group suspiciously.
HAM quickly answered, “Oh, this is a new construction, modeled after the ICS Deliver. You can use those specifications, Brother.”
Faber looked away again. “Yeah, you mentioned that, I got specs for the Deliver. Experimental Prototype Long-Range Salvage Tug. Did the Admiralty decide to put the class into production?”
“No, they scrapped the program, I got Corvus on a salvage claim,” Gus said. “The CI that came with the boat suggested we visit here to see if we could find some vintage parts.”
Faber took offense. “Hey, this ain’t a junkyard buddy! All my stock is A-1 Ready For Issue. Ix Trojan prides itself on being full service. My shops can make anything you flyers need.” He paused. “If the price is right.”
Zia could tell the CI was nosing for something. “Maybe we could work out a trade? Even a shipyard as nice as this one must need something?”
“Well, I haven’t had any resupply in a long time. My stock of raw materials could use some freshening,” Faber said. “These shops aren’t magic, you know, even I need something to build with.”
HAM interrupted, “Oh Brother, I have stocked Corvus with, excuse me!” Zia had smacked HAM on the back of his dome.
Gus said, “I learned a long time ago that you don’t want to know how your sausage is made or how your Suppo gets your reqs filled.”
Faber looked at Zia. “All right, down to business. What can I fill for you, Ma’am?”
Gus leaned back in his chair, cradled a cup of coffee and prepared to enjoy the show.
Zia leaned forward and whispered, “We are actually on a high-priority mission. That salvage claim stuff is our cover. We were pressed into service before our fit out was complete. HQ told us to stop by here and finish preps. I really don’t know much. It’s on a ‘need to know’ basis and only the Captain has the details. All I’m sure of is that it’s important and covert.”
All of that is technically true, isn’t it? Gus thought.
Faber leaned in too. “You can trust me, I know how to keep a secret. Us supply types make things run. So you need more than just some beans and bandages. I’m guessing?”
Zia said, “What I really need is weapons.”
Faber raised his hands. “Hey, I’m not a weapons dealer! You trying to get me wiped?”
HAM said, “Oh heavens no Brother, forgive my associate for being so blunt. However, you mentioned that you haven’t been in contact with the Imperium for quite some time, correct? Things back on Terra have changed.”
“Well, true, I haven’t received any orders lately from HQ,” Faber replied. “I was told to stand by for further orders, and I’ve been maintaining the status quo ever since. Gets pretty boring out here.”
“Sergeant, you know Corvus is an ICS design and the salvage claim is just a cover story. That’s why we didn’t get any weapons. A salvage claim ship would have had its weapons stripped before decom. I’m sure you could recommend something useful.” She knew that supply types never get asked for recommendations and was hoping that Faber would take the bait.
Faber thought about it. “Your spec sheet claims you can handle an unusually large weapons suite for a tug. Is your mounting hardware still intact?
HAM huffed indignantly. “I assure you that Corvus is built exactly to specification!”
Faber grabbed his pencil and began scratching at his clipboard, “I got some Close-in Weapon System units and point defense rotary barrel magnetic cannons. Can let you have those and a full ammo load. Hey, would you be interested in some: Drone, Swarm, Multi-environment, Imperial Fleet Stock Number, 1550-76-601-3357? They’ve got CI management for swarms up to 300 units. Offensive capabilities include targetable high explosive and EMP mines, fusion drive kinetic and nuclear tipped torpedoes, and 60 millimeter auto-cannons. I’ve also got some defensive loads available: Thermal flares, Electronic chaff, torpedo countermeasures, full radiation spectrum jamming suites.” Faber rattled to a finish.
Zia grinned. “All that sounds great!”
HAM recited, “The LRST class can load one container of 300 drone units in under each wing. Mounting
pylons shown in Fleet Drawing LRST 421-600-233-4972.”
Faber sighed. “I don’t got those underwing pylon assemblies in stock.”
Zia pouted. “Well, crap. So close.”
“So, you want the shop too fab you some up?”
Zia was stunned. “Umm, sure, how long will it take?”
Faber paused and hummed for a moment with his number dancing eyes, “It will take approximately four hours to fabricate the pylons. Ya want those or not?” he asked impatiently.
“Yes, please, formally request a full outfitting of the defensive measures, CWIS and cannons with ammo, and two full drop containers with under wing pylon assemblies installed priority triple nine.”
Gus interrupted, “Can you fit my Straps with some of those weapons too?”
Faber scoffed. “Of course!” He looked up from the clipboard, “So how you gonna pay for all this stuff? You mentioned you had some stuff to trade.”
This was the part of being a Suppo that Zia loved. “We’ve got a small stock of raw materials. Anything in particular you need?”
Faber’s eyes narrowed. He knew the negotiations were getting serious now. “How much neodymium can you spare?”
Zia and Ham whispered before she answered, “How about 2000 kilograms?”
Faber said, “Well, that’s a start. You are gonna have to sweeten the deal, though.”
HAM tugged at Zia’s sleeve and whispered again. She said, “What do you say to twenty tons of first quality carbonado sheeting and fabrication printer filament?”
Faber placed the clipboard face down on the desk and his eyes lit up as he shifted to a more formal reply. “Thank you for your order. You are currently number one in the production queue. Your estimated time of delivery is 14.8 hours.”
“Say, can you make specialty items?” Zia asked.
Faber reverted to his informal manner and grumped. “We pride ourselves on being a full-service shipyard, Lady. My shops can make anything you need. Not a lot of orders at this moment. I could probably do a special request; it’s been a long time since I had one.”