Ghosts from the Past (The Wandering engineer Book 7)

by Chris Hechtl

  Now they were roommates and friends, dear friends on this ship. She just wanted to get by to help. Shandra had other ideas. She wanted to hit back. To fight, to kick the pirate's ass all the way back to their homeworld and burn it to cinders.

  The man working on the primary tactical station had a lot of say in that. He was the real reason Shandra and Mia were there on the ship's bridge. Shandra had been enraptured by him, by his mission. Mia had to admit, she had been taken in, not just by the idea of hitting back but also in working with the man. He was a legend after all; who wouldn't want to be in her shoes?

  She watched Admiral Irons place his right arm within the tactical station and then let it rip. The arm deployed tentacles and small arms as well as silver trails of nanites all over the station. The cracked LCD on the right side started to heal itself. It was both fascinating and a little disturbing to watch. She now understood where some of the legend came from. He glanced her way, and she felt her cheeks heat. “It'd be nice, sir, if we all had that ability,” she said softly, wondering where she was getting her bravery from.

  “It's actually harder than it looks,” Admiral Irons replied, looking over to the navigator. She was a quiet small Asian woman, normally shy and reserved. Drawing her out would be good for her development he thought.

  “The ... AI is doing it? Or are you doing it through your implants too, sir?”

  “The AI is. His name is Proteus. He's, well, he's an engineering AI.”

  She nodded. “So, you let him do the work. Do you know how to do it, sir?” she asked, wrinkling her pert nose.

  “Of course. But he can do it a hundred times faster than I can. I'm delegating the task to him I guess you could say. He's the expert.”

  “I see, sir,” she said with a nod.

  “AI organic symbiosis has been experimented on for centuries with mixed results. I'm sort of another ... stepping stone in that process I guess you could say,” the admiral replied with an engaging smile.

  She looked at her station, making a small adjustment to their course and then fed it to the helm before she looked up. “Do we have to have tactical experience to handle the job sir?”

  “Tired of being a navigator?”

  “I, um, actually learned all the bridge stations,” she said, now uncomfortable. She rubbed an arm in self-conscious defense. His eyes made her want to bolt from the room but she held her ground.

  “I see. That's good to know,” he said. “Do you have engineering training as well?”

  She shrugged. “Some. I helped out when I was younger; everyone had to. Mostly apprentice level stuff. Gopher. Daddy ...” she gulped and looked away.

  “Her father was a ship's captain,” Ensign Williamson interjected from the OPS station. He glanced over to the older woman. She had cafe latté skin and curly purple and black hair. The hair was short, close cropped like a spacer cut. She was tall, obviously a couple of centimeters taller than the navigator. He knew they were roommates.

  “Was. I'm sorry for your loss, Midshipman,” the admiral said, nodding his chin to Mia. She blinked away her stinging eyes and returned the nod.

  “Just about all of us have lost someone or all of our families, sir,” the ensign growled. “I can't wait until tactical is up so we can start learning to hit back,” she said, eyes flashing.

  “Tactical is a bit more than just one job,” the admiral said as Proteus finished up. He straightened and surveyed the work. The station was good, probably as good as new. He nodded as he touched the screen with his left hand. He felt his implants perform a handshake protocol as they logged in. He checked, then frowned slightly. “The hardware is up but unfortunately there are a lot of chinks in the system to be worked out. And Proteus can fix the hardware but can do little for the software,” he sighed, withdrawing his hand.

  “Oh,” Ensign Williamson said, deflating.

  “But we've got some good coders on board; we'll figure it out, Ensign. In time,” the admiral said with a nod. According to the report Proteus had generated, a quarter of the tactical station's systems were not standard issue. Which meant they'd have to be replaced. They functioned now however. He passed the note on to the repair list and watched the station blink in status and then drop a few lines on the spreadsheet.

  “Defense,” he said, going over to the defensive station.

  “Sir?”

  “The tactical station on the bridge is split into two jobs—offense and defense. Normally the TACO, that's the senior Tactical Officer takes offense and directs that while the junior officer handles defense of the ship and surrounding space. They coordinate their efforts together, with their substations, with the other ship departments, the ship's AI, as well as CIC, and the flag bridge,” he explained.

  “Oh.”

  “It's one finely coordinated ballet when it's done right. When it's done wrong ...” his face worked. The ensign frowned thoughtfully.

  “I think I could do defense, sir,” Mia said, surprising Shandra and the admiral as well as herself. They turned to her. She hunched her shoulders a bit. “I did some games when I was younger. I was pretty good at Meteor Defense, Incoming, Missile Command, and Asteroid Encounters,” she replied.

  “Those games were created during or just before the Xeno war?” Lobsterman asked. She turned to him and nodded.

  “I believe they were created as a back-door way to get people interested in the navy, sir?” the ship's AI asked, turning to the Admiral.

  “They are, were, addictive,” Mia said. “I was high score on my ship,” she mumbled, head down.

  “I've seen her play a few times,” Shandra said loyally. The admiral glanced at Mia and then to the ensign. He nodded. “Okay, you'll get your shot,” he said as he turned Proteus loose on the defensive station.

  Mia felt a glow of pride and excitement. But a blinking warning made her return her attention to her duty. She found the next way point on their journey and then busied herself finding the most efficient and safe course for the coxswain to follow.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Lieutenant Nobeki nodded to a work crew of marines, marine recruits, and a pair of ratings riding herd on them. The recruits were being shuffled through some sort of training and indoctrination by Major Gustov whenever they had free time. He'd deliberately asked her for scut and KP work for his people, though she didn't understand why. She didn't argue with him either. All of the debris and rubble in the ship, along with the bodies had been recycled before they'd jumped. But panels that were burned or torn up still clung to the bulkheads in many sections of the ship. Apparently this work crew was tasked with pulling them off, hauling them to the recyclers, and then bringing in replacement panels and installing them.

  “How is it going?” She asked.

  “Fine,” a sergeant replied, not looking at her for the moment as they wrestled with the ceiling panel. She frowned, catching a glimpse of the hanging wiring they were pushing up out of the way to get the panel in place. That would need to be checked. She sighed. She should have had someone check behind the panels when they were off and make repairs before they put new panels up. That was a screwup on her head.

  “Problem with the cable? Don't crimp it. That dangling one is an ODN to power room 3,” she warned. The sergeant looked down, noted her officer tabs and engineering coverall and slowed himself.

  “Aye aye, ma'am.”

  “Are you finding any damage when you pull a panel?” She asked.

  “Yes ma'am. We're doing what we can. What we can't fix we log for later repair, ma'am,” he replied.

  “You worked in DCC?” She asked, indicating Damage Control. From what she'd learned, the marines were sometimes cross-trained to backup DCC work crews.

  “Yes, ma'am,” he replied, still struggling to get the panel in. “This thing ... no it's the hangar. It's bent. Something's cocked up further away,” he said.

  “Probably,” a rating said, glancing at his boss and then back to the sergeant on the ladder.

  “Take a st
ep back and find the panels out of alignment,” the sergeant ordered. “We'll adjust them all if we have to,” he growled.

  “We have to be on the next project by midshift,” the rating warned.

  “Hang the fracking schedule. We do it right or we don't do it at all. I don't leave shit half ass.”

  The rating glanced at Irina. Her lips puckered slightly as her cheeks dimpled in amusement. “Carry on then,” she said with a nod of approval. The rating blinked then his nostrils flared in annoyance.

  “Going to be here all damn shift I bet,” the rating muttered. Irina heard that over her shoulder as she left the work area. She shook her head and moved on.

  She paused and flattened to allow a floating bot to pass by. Technically the bot was supposed to make way for an organic, any organic, but it was quicker and easier to cede passage rights to the bot. She watched it drift past then round the corner. There was a swear from the rating, and the bot was shooed back the way it had come.

  Irina shook her head. Bots were everywhere, either working as engineering telepresence remotes in hard to reach or dangerous areas or automated bots like the little janitor bot that had just passed by. The ship was clean, cleaner than it had been in centuries she bet. The bots had exposed a lot of areas that needed TLC in the process, which was a good thing. A few could even handle minor repairs on their own. She just wished she had more of them. There never was enough to go around it seemed. By rights she should request more from the admiral but she had checked the schedule. There was no room to fit another replicator for the moment.

  “Checking up on my people, Lieutenant?” Major Gustov rumbled off to her left. She paused and then turned to see the Marine.

  “Looking for a hall pass, Rory?” She teased, smiling politely to him. Technically he was a marine captain; he'd been recently promoted by Admiral Irons. But since a ship could only have one captain he'd been traditionally frocked to Major while on board. He'd revert to his original rank the moment he debarked.

  The major shrugged, arms crossed. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay, I'm spot checking a few. The Sergeant's team keeps falling behind on the schedule.”

  “He's a perfectionist. He's trying to teach them to get it right not half ass,” Irina replied. She indicated he should walk with her. He gave her a slight nod and stepped to her side. “I understand where he's coming from; no one likes things slip shod.”

  “It's something we train for. Get it right, no matter what it is. If you know it's right, you know it'll work. Whether it's a bed or weapon or a det charge,” the marine said simply. “So, yeah, I see his point.”

  “It must be fun getting stuck between the two viewpoints. Get it right, but hurry up and move on to the next project,” Irina said.

  “You of all people should know all about that,” Rory replied, face working. “I've got people scattered all over the ship. I haven't been able to feel out the recruits, either the ones from Firefly or the ones we picked up in B101a1. Thank the spirits of space they all have basic implants though,” he said.

  “Well, from the sound of it, that sergeant back there is pretty solid. You picked up what, a dozen marines?” Irina asked.

  “One squad from Firefly. That truly sucks,” the major replied, face working again. She eyed him out of the corner of her eye as they walked. “Don't get me wrong, I know they were needed to ride herd on the prison ship and the rest of the fleet as they returned to Pyrax. But we've got a long way to go. I only have so many people left. A lot of us died boarding this crate,” he said, voice cooling.

  “Yeah, I know,” Irina said, voice dropping in sympathy. She patted his arm. “You boys did good. Damn good,” she said, “for jarheads.”

  “Well, thank you kindly, squid lady,” he replied with a half-smile. She snorted. “I need serious training time though. Time where I can put all my people in one compartment and see what they are capable of. A couple weeks at least. Not this chicken shit, learn as you go stuff,” he said in disgust, shaking his head.

  “We all do. And it's only going to get worse when we get to where we are going,” Irina replied with a half sigh. She had some good people but some others barely knew which end of a screwdriver to hold. She shook her head as he eyed her. “I know your marines have been pressed into service helping out with repairs, playing gopher, doing inventory, or hell, even standing a watch. I bet they'd just love to be bored holding a bulkhead up while on guard duty,” she said. He shook his head, not rising to the bait. “The good thing is, like you said, everyone has implants so they can at least get downloads and sleep teaching.”

  “That's nothing, Lieutenant. We need the proper foundation. I'm serious,” he said. “I don't want to go into combat with the recruits backing me up right now. None know what they are doing.”

  “They need time to adjust. What, a couple months ago they were slaves, right? Decompress time,” she said then snorted. “Hell, we do too!” she said shaking her head. He eyed her. She shrugged and patted him on the shoulder again. “You hunted me down to put a word in with the Admiral?”

  “I ... yeah, maybe,” he admitted.

  “I'll do it, but now that we're getting somewhere I think the admiral is going to start having staff meetings more often so you can ask him yourself,” she warned.

  He grunted then nodded. “Shit. Shining a seat with my ass. That's all I need.”

  “Fun fun fun,” she teased. “I know; being bored to death in a meeting is better than wading through reams of paperwork,” she said.

  “Which I need to catch up on. Again,” the major replied with a hefty sigh. “This is where I get off, Lieutenant,” he said nodding to the right turn at the junction they were approaching.

  “Parting ways as usual. Well, we'll cross paths again, sir. Maybe sometime we can get some work out time in the dojo,” Irina said with a twinkle.

  “I'd like that,” the major replied with a grin.

  “Yeah, you would, you old fart,” she teased, punching his shoulder lightly. He chuckled as they split up.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  When he had a free moment, Admiral Irons stopped by CIC or what once had been the CIC compartment. Right now the compartment as well as the flag bridge and flag officer's quarters were sealed off; they were open to vacuum and pretty shredded. It was just one of couple thousand projects on his agenda. Unfortunately it wasn't a priority while in hyper; just getting the critical functions up and running while also juggling the managing of all of them took all his time. He didn't mind sleeping in the captain's quarters; he could sleep anywhere. But it would be nice to finish the ship, to set her right again.

  He knew they were planning to do the full overhaul when they got to B100 omega, but he couldn't help himself. Whenever he had a free moment, or if he was in the area, he took a swing near one of the sections and did a little moonlighting making repairs.

  He'd sicked a couple of cleaner robots on the sections to catalog the damage a few times and then waded in. Each time he came by he chose another battered section and went to town on it with Proteus until Sprite reminded him of his schedule or someone called him away. He couldn't get into the compartments without a suit, and he didn't have time to put one on. But he could make repairs to the corridors and companionways around them. Proteus used his right arm and nanites to meld broken and cracked bulkhead panels while diving into the wiring to make repairs. Some of it would just have to be ripped out again when they finally did get around to fixing the areas, but for now it was getting there. Becoming ... functional. Sort of.

  CIC and the flag bridge both had their own dedicated computers and communications. They had links to the ship's systems as well. With the extra computers online, Sprite and Lobsterman would be able to do more ... and he could set them on various tasks to simulate or plan for. He was fairly certain the computers were junk though. Between the AI viruses and whatever the Horathian's had used in the first place ... he shook his head. Sprite had assured him she'd gotten everything out of them but he stil
l wanted to check before he tore them apart and replaced them, which was his current mini goal. He judged he was about four meters away from the hatch to the flag bridge computer room. There was a big spar, debris, hanging wiring, and shredded decking between him and the hatch.

  He frowned as he scanned it. About ten minutes of work, maybe twenty but he wasn't sure about that spar. The hatch also looked messed up, possibly spot welded. It was definitely warped, possibly from the inside which didn't bode well for some of the contents of that compartment.

  “Playing hooky again, Admiral?” Sprite asked with a hint of exasperation in her voice.

  “You can't blame a flag officer for wanting to be where a flag officer is supposed to be,” he said, bending a spar back and out of the way. He turned back the way he had come. He and Proteus had managed to do one wall section about three meters long. That was good progress.

  “Well, engineering needs a hand. The number 2 bottle is fluctuating again, and Chief Behr is having trouble with it. And since they still don't have all the remote links hooked up to that compartment, I and Lobsterman can't dive in to lend a hand,” she said.

  “On my way,” the admiral said straightening up. They were getting there, one step at a time he reminded himself.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Mia frowned as she felt a ping. She was still getting used to her implants, the first couple of times she'd been pinged she'd thought she was going to jump out of her skin. At least no one else was in the room to see her jerk.

  “You get one too?” Shandra asked quietly.

  “One what? A ping?” Mia asked, rubbing at her eyes. She checked her HUD, noted the time. “Yeah,” she said, glancing at the icon of mail in her inbox.

  “It's from Commander Sprite. Its ... it's a tactical problem! A series of them! Right from the book, oh huh,” Shandra said, elated.

  “Okay,” Mia replied, more reserved. She wanted to sleep but wasn't sure if she should. Should she answer right away?”