by Chris Hechtl
They took turns and explained to the AI that the group had to draw a sense of identity from each other and come together as a unit and the AI was hampering that effort. “They draw comfort from each other. From their shared pain and shared efforts. Eventually they will see you as a threat and close ranks. When they do, and believe me, they will, you will be on the outside looking in. We can't have that. Not of a ship's AI. We need you as a part of the team.”
“I know you are eager, Ensign; you are willing to fill in your position and think you are ready to take on your role but give it some time. Observe, learn. Above all, listen,” the admiral said.
“I'll try, sir. I just want to help,” the chastened AI replied.
“I know, son. I know. But help can come in different forms. Throwing your weight around can hurt more than help. You have to earn it first. Those that haven't earned it can be cut up in the eyes of others who have. So watch it.”
“Aye, sir,” the AI said, now sounding subdued. He obviously had a lot to think about.
“Think about it,” the Admiral said.
When the AI withdrew Sprite jumped back to his HUD. “He's getting there, sir.”
“I'm glad your teenage time period wasn't as bad.”
“I was a handful, but I wasn't a pain was I?”
“Only slightly,” the admiral replied with a smile. “I learned the hard way that my expectation of being able to handle a teenage female was way off base. It's one thing to have one growing up in your household, quite another inside your own body,” he said.
“Gee, thanks,” she replied dryly.
“Anytime, Commander, anytime,” he said with a grin.
...*...*...*...*...
Doctor Che finally got a handle on her workload and got around to repairing Lieutenant Nobeki's broken body. Her trip to Bounty had helped a lot; she'd manage to sleep without a sleep aide twice in the past week. She knew she didn't look like hell warmed over any longer, and her talks with the Glenns had helped her regain some of her confidence to try the surgery.
It took a full day to make replacement tissue for her before she could come out of stasis and into a regen pod. Then the nanites went to work repairing her broken and battered body. The doctor judged it would be at least several days before she was released, then a couple days of recovery, and then they'd have to see about therapy. She reported the cautious news to the Admiral.
“Good, Doctor, excellent work,” the admiral replied over the intercom.
“It wasn't all me. Hell, barely me at all. But I still feel like a piñata,” Grace said, wearily shaking her head. She had had to concentrate like never before to control the microbots and surgical equipment to operate on the young woman's brain. “I am still not certain how much of her we lost. A piece definitely, but hopefully not a significant one,” she said.
The admiral digested that thought for a moment then nodded. “Understood, Doctor. Getting her back is good enough. We'll hope for the best,” he said.
“I'll be praying. Before and after I go to sleep,” the doctor said.
“Eat something first, Doc; you know you need it.”
“Yes, Admiral,” she said with just the right hint of exasperation in her tone of voice to make him smile slightly. He was about to retort, but she cut the channel. He snorted and sat back, eying the bridge crew. There were a few sidelong looks, but no one was making their approval obvious. Just the same, he judged the news was already hitting the ship's scuttlebutt with its usual efficiency.
...*...*...*...*...
Admiral Irons got out of the shower and found a neat pile of towels being held by a robot. He took the top most one and shook it out from its folds. It was a good size, perfect for his large frame. He was amused by ship's crest on towels and other articles though. There were even wash cloths.
The ship's crest was the state of Maine's ancient one from old Earth. “Really? We can waste time and resources on this?” he asked, holding another towel up. The droid clucked at him in seeming disapproval. He ignored the reprimand as one hand held the towel around his waist up. “It looks like we're in a hotel not a fighting ship. Fluffy enough,” he said.
“What the branding? That's normal. You wanted to draw the ship's company together into a solid unit,” Sprite said. “So yes, it's on your new coffee mug, along with a galactic map and the flag of the Federation. We had to replicate replacements anyway,” she reminded him. “These items are on any ship's TOE.”
“Um ...”
“There is only so much to go around, Admiral. If we're going to do it, why not do it right the first time? It saves having to do it over later.”
“True,” he answered as he dressed, relenting the argument.
“How goes the coding?” He finally asked.
“It's ... getting there,” Sprite replied. She actually hadn't bothered coding for some time; her role as XO and chief of training had taken up too much of her processors and time. “Some of the software is built into the new hardware as firmware. Now that you are replicating more of it I can access them and make copies,” she said.
“You didn't clone Firefly's or Bounty's net?” the admiral asked as he shrugged into his T shirt.
“Yes, but they are smaller ships, Admiral, not built like a Newmannn class. Some of the hardware is compatible, but most of that is already preloaded.”
“Ah, I see,” he said. “Keep me posted,” he ordered as he finished getting dressed.
“Aye aye, Admiral,” Sprite said. She frowned thoughtfully. Defender had been quiet for some time. Perhaps she could shuffle some of the Intel processing off on him while she did a little more coding?
...*...*...*...*...
Sprite organized a shuffle of personnel in the fleet. Ensign Williamson was transferred to Carnegie as her new operations officer. She got the news and packed woodenly. She knew it had been coming, in a way it was a relief. She couldn't stand the stares, the looks from people. The looks behind her back, the occasional whisper. Many were sympathetic and that almost made it worse for her. Mia was on shift so she didn't have to deal with her, or so she thought.
Mia, however, had other ideas. She caught up with her at the boat bay entrance. She stopped there when she rounded the corner, staring at the other woman, her former roommate and friend.
She was shocked when Mia dropped her head and rushed into her arms. They cried a little, a tearful farewell before her departure. “So, you heard I take it?” Shandra said, brushing the smaller woman's soft silky hair with her cheek. She closed her eyes.
“Yeah,” Mia said waterly into her ample chest. The two women hugged tightly.
“I'll e-mail you when I can. I'm only a thought away”
“Video chat too,” Mia said, squeezing until she gasped.
Shandra nodded. “You got it. Now you better let go or we'll be stuck like this forever,” she said.
Mia chuckled and stepped back. She rubbed at her runny nose with a finger. Shandra rolled her eyes. “I'll see if we can catch up when we get downtime. Maybe some time in port if we're lucky,” she said, voice roughening with emotion.
Mia nodded. “I know. Better get going,” she said, jerking her chin to the open hatch. A boat bay rating was waving to her to get moving. “You'll miss your flight.”
“Be seeing you,” Shandra said, shouldering her bag.
“Be seeing you. Safe sailing,” Mia said as the other woman stepped through the hatch.
“You too,” Shandra called back, fighting more tears as she made her way to the shuttle. She ducked her head to avoid any potential stares from the boat bay people or the other passengers on the flight. She climbed on board, stuffed her bag in the overhead and then sat and buckled in. She angrily wiped at her eyes. It was going to be a long flight she thought, breathing out slowly to fight the sobs.
...*...*...*...*...
Despite all the work in B101a1 and while in transit, they still had a lot of damage left to repair. Then there was the necessary maintenance and rebuilds of the c
ritical ship's systems that were currently off line. He estimated that it would take nearly the whole three months just to recore Maine's power rooms with proper military grade fusion reactors, along with replacing her hyperdrive and other major systems. Just filling her armory would be a headache. The magazines ... he winced. He'd have to rethink his priorities, find a balance. Some things would have to wait. They couldn't do it all at once.
Commander Sindri turned into a godsend. He was a great foreman, able to oversee the work on any of the ships despite trying to con his own ship. He had spent a lot of time on the radio working with various engineering companies to fix one problem or another. He immediately grasped a problem and worked out a solution without waiting for the admiral. Sometimes those solutions were brute force and lacked the elegance Irons had learned over years of training and experience, but he let the smaller man roll with it, giving the commander full authority as his second to oversee the work in his absence.
The admiral made it official by designating the commander as his deputy for ship repairs. Echo might be lacking in a distracted captain, but the fleet needed Sindri's guiding hand more. Since Commander Sindri had the initial moves under control from the bridge of his corvette, the admiral jacked into Maine's replicators for a shift. He had made a few while in transit; now he took the time to finish her compliment of industrial replicators. They would go a long way to help repair and update the ship in his absence.
When the shift ended he checked on things. Everything was keeping to his schedule. He made certain to spot check but there were no problems.
Once he was certain Sindri had the work under control, he shifted his seat to Carnegie for the duration of the refit. That would allow him to use his implants to manufacture the equipment needed quickly. When he got a backlog going he switched back to Maine to get her replicators going and then did the same to the other ships in the fleet, overseeing their repairs and survey work one by one. But he couldn't be everywhere at once.
However, his schedule slipped several times as they went to work on the fleet, repairing the ships. A broken spar a survey party found in one of the Clydesdale's meant even more work; they had to rip part of her hull off to get to her. While she was done they had one fewer vessel to move material to Carnegie.
Structural repairs, the shields, power rooms, hyperdrives, sublight drives, navigational suites, and exterior hull repairs were the priorities. Anything else that was internal could wait on some of the ships. Cosmetic repairs were left off the list totally; he didn't need the ships to look good, just fly good. Each time they passed through a star system he intended for them to get better, to have Carnegie shuttle out components she had made while in transit. He shook his head. Already ships were lined up around the factory ship. He had them clustered by work order but wasn't going to fuss if one finished a task and worked on another in the same slot.
“One step at a time,” he murmured softly.
Chapter 6
Admiral Irons had been briefly tempted to take the ships on an offensive, but the plodding pace, litany of shoddy repairs, and overworked skeleton crews put that idea to rest right off. Ensign Williamson's breakdown sealed the idea away, and Sprite's report of at least two battle cruisers in the Horathian fleet to go along with the confirmed reports of a super dreadnaught and dreadnaught ended the idea completely.
They were making good on some of the repairs and major headway into the refits, but even just basic preventive maintenance was hard to keep on top of with the minimum watch crew left behind to their own devices. Accidents were becoming a major concern now that they had stood down the major ship's systems to overhaul and rebuild them.
Training was either through sleep training or on the job for the noobs. They had picked up a lot during the three-month transit out, but the experiences weren't even across the fleet. The freighters had coasted for a lot of the passage, barely doing any work. Work in subspace on refitting the ships presented its own challenges since it was new to the crew or most of the crew; the old sweats were handling the job well.
Sleep training was hit or miss; the person undergoing the sleep training had to be sufficiently relaxed and have the proper time to adjust and absorb the information. Since they were working twenty hours a day, that was pretty much out.
The ship's compliment was brittle. Sprite constantly reminded him that they came from diverse backgrounds and many had lingering mental issues to deal with. The wounds weren't quite as scared over as he'd like. Some festered. People were having tension issues. There had been reports of several flash arguments and a few fights. Tempers flared over little and large issues.
“There is no way they could handle a major combat, sir,” Sprite said soberly in her report to him after she assessed the situation. “Possibly not even a long cruise. They need downtime in the worst way imaginable. Not everyone is a workaholic. Their enthusiasm is waning.”
“I understand that. But ...”
“Admiral, you remember what it was like to work on a freighter. You looked forward to planet fall. To getting your leave and going down and having a blast in a bar with your friends, or getting laid. They have too. They got into that routine; they grew up with it. It is a hard mental habit to break. Many of these people were broken before we found them. Now they've had a bit of time to relax, but not a hell of a lot, and the stress has always been there, lingering. Tension needs some form of outlet.”
“I understand that. But keeping them busy helped them to remain focused. To not come apart,” he said doggedly.
“Like Ensign Williamson did?” Sprite riposted right back. He scowled. “There is a reason you organics, even AI like myself, get downtime, Admiral. You know it.”
He frowned as he tried to put her lecture on the need for downtime to unwind in proper perspective. Sure, they'd get a chance at planetary leave eventually. He couldn't help that there was no planets in this or the next three star systems! He finally remembered his training, and why they had the downtime between training assignments. It was to get out of the grueling schedule, and then he remembered the mandatory suicide prevention and anti-depression counseling. He'd always thought it was stupid, but now he understood it better.
“The downtime would give the various crews, the veterans of Bounty along with the Firefly grafts time to bond with their shipmates from the liberated slaves, Admiral. You know this.” He frowned thoughtfully. “It will give them time to bond not under stress but in a social environment where they could share their stories, share their pain and let it go. To vent in a semi-controlled way,” Sprite pointed out. “Some of the crew will still struggle with what to do with the downtime. Like you, they are lost when they have nothing to do but sit there. That may be a problem. Hopefully we'll find a way to teach them that it is okay to relax. I'm betting sleep will come hard. Some might break just from getting time off,” she warned. “But the longer this is put off the worse that breakdown could get.
“Okay. You convinced me to try it. A short break,” he said. “You get to explain it to the engineers like Sindri though,” he said as he reluctantly passed on the order.
“What do you have in mind Admiral?”
“Start simple to give them time to decompress. If you could also schedule some sleep training with it, that might help too,” he said thoughtfully.
“Admiral, that sort of training is not good with the consumption of alcohol or other recreational substances,” the AI warned. He nodded. “Traditionally a shorthanded or heavily scheduled crew received one half day off a week, usually a Sunday,” the AI said.
“That will work,” the admiral said with a relieved nod. And to not addle the schedule too much, put it in for the following week to get them accustomed to the idea and looking forward to it,” he ordered.
“And give some time to plan something? Trysts or what have you?” Sprite asked in amusement. He shrugged the idea off.
He rubbed his chin and sat back deeper in the shuttle seat. He glanced at the chrono on his screen; he had
about twenty minutes until he was back on Maine. “It would also allow them to catch up on sleep and any chores they'd overlooked. Hell, laundry alone,” he said, shaking his head.
“What about those needed to man their posts?” Sprite asked.
“Schedule half shifts or quarter shifts so everyone can participate in a ship-wide party the following weekend. Volunteers will get that time back the following weekend on top of what they are getting then,” he said.
“So they can bank it? That might work. You know they'll trade shifts and time too. A form of barter like this is inevitable,” Sprite warned him. Again he shrugged. The light above the hatch blinked. He flipped his attention into the shuttle's avionics. He'd hitched a ride with Jordan on a supply flight. It wasn't glamorous, but he didn't care.
“Organizing a party will play merry hell with the manning tables and schedule, but with the ship AI we can at least cover the critical systems while everyone relaxes,” Sprite said.
“Speaking of which, how are you on the other ship, AI?”
“I dumped a canned AI into the frigate, and Mary Apple has her own AI, though I'm not sure about a male personality. Johnny Appleseed? Really?”
“It's his choice, Commander,” the admiral replied. He smiled slightly as he felt the bump of the shuttle landing. “And whoever said us organics are the only one who can be perverse and odd?” He asked.
“Touché,” Sprite murmured as the hatch cycled open.
“And the others?”
“Coming along. I haven't looked into the AI for the civilian ships other than Carnegie. I don't want to addle the factory ship's computers while it's in full use. We'll have to schedule some downtime for an install and stabilization period,” she informed him.
“Do it when we're overhauling her hyperdrive and other systems,” the admiral ordered as he unbuckled and climbed out of his seat. He nodded to the chimp as she opened the hatch and then stepped aside for him to exit.